


To Which I Aspire

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Aromantic Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justice is a concept, an ideal- he embodies all that is good and all that is bad about the mortal concept of justice, and can imagine no other life. A chance encounter with a human interloper in his realm will change everything he is and everything he will be, and he will learn that there is so much more to the world than he could ever have believed. </p><p>The Dragon Age Alphabet Challenge from tumblr, for Justice</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Aura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aura [noun]: a distinctive or pervasive quality or character; an atmosphere seen as emanating from a person, place or thing; a sensation, as of lights or temperature

He had not realised that they were memories.

There was so much new in this world, so much new in this body- as if having a body in itself wasn’t new and strange enough- that he had yet to process the entire lifetime that lingered in the flesh. It was like a shadow of a soul, like the dreamers he had encountered in the Fade for as long as he could remember and yet _less_. There had been so much around and within him, and the world was so _distracting_ , rich and vibrant and alive in a way the Fade never was, and the memories were dim and distant, embedded in the body so deeply that he hardly even knew they were there unless he focussed on them.

It was not until the Warden Commander led him into the yard of Vigil’s Keep that the memories had begun to stir. He _knew_ this place, knew the worn paths in the grass, and the exact hue of the stone and the feel of the wooden gate beneath his hand, and it was a knowing accompanied by faces, discussions, smells, colours, arguments, music, laughter, all manner of things bubbling and seething within him that he had never known, never needed, never experienced and yet they were _there_ within him, suddenly his and suddenly not. And then the woman standing by the well, beautiful in a way that surprised him, for beauty had never been a consideration of his before; yet she was beautiful, her features calling to him, somehow comforting and familiar and constant. She was wringing her hands together anxiously, her face pinched and the skin beneath her eyes dark from nights of sleeplessness… she had turned towards them, catching sight of them and her eyes had come to land on him and he had known-

Love.

Desire.

Desperation.

Anger.

Amusement.

Grief.

Contentment.

Sorrow.

Frustration.

Happiness.

And her name was Aura.

All of this he felt in a rush, a sudden and painful revelation as powerful as the moment when the Veil had torn aside and he’d been cast into the mortal realm. Nothing else so far had sparked such depth of _feeling_ within him, emotions that he had only known by name up until now. And now he knew, _he knew_ , with such startling clarity that he wondered later how he had stayed upright, that she was hurting, that his very presence offended her even before she’d called him abhorrent.

The pain in her eyes was familiar, and he knew it, and he wanted it to go away.

Her name was Aura.

And on that day he felt something other than determination to see justice done. It was the beginning.


	2. B is for Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Body [noun]: the flesh, as opposed to the spirit; a corpse, a carcass

The dwarf teased him, and made lewd assumptions about the functions he might have been able to perform were his body in a lesser state of decay.

The elf avoided him, accusing him of smelling bad, trying to slather him with poultices to stop the rot that she found so very offensive.

The archer badgered him with questions, wanting to know how firmly he was bound to Kristoff’s remains, and whether he considered leaving a host that was so very impractical for fighting and simply existing.

The female dwarf was kinder, but she seemed confused by his attempts at building a rapport. At the very least she did not laugh at him when he misunderstood her claim at being dead. She, like all the others though, felt it necessary to point out the failings of this body he had acquired unhappily.

He’d had no idea that bodies could be such a complicated affair.

Or that apparently they were an open topic of conversation… although when he’d attempted to discuss female bodies with the elf, he had been rebuffed rather firmly. There was clearly a line there that he had yet to fully comprehend.

It was distracting, having a body. He could feel things now, engage with the world around him and experience it in all its tactile glory. He felt wind pushing at his back as they walked along the road from Amaranthine and it was startling; he felt the heat flickering from the campfire, warming the dead flesh that housed him. He felt the cool pressure of running water over his hand when they stopped by a stream, and he felt the way the leather and steel and linen of his armour rasped over his skin with every movement he made, no matter how small.

Such little things, so transfixing.

He stood too close to people, and he talked too loudly. This was wrong, he learned quickly, but he did not quite understand why. He tried to gauge appropriate distances and volumes by watching the mortals, but there was no standard amongst them, nothing that he might emulate comfortably. They shouted from across the room, or whispered coyly into each other’s ears. They deliberately crossed to the other side of the yard to avoid one another, or slung arms around shoulders amiably. The Commander tried to explain it to him, this notion of body language and personal space, but she seemed genuinely perplexed by some of his questions, and more often than not she ended on a laugh, her eyes twinkling with merriment that just eluded him.

Sometimes he tried to compensate and he spoke too softly, or he used his hands too expansively, or he scowled too fiercely when he should have been smiling. Facial expressions, and their infinite meanings eluded him- how could one be smiling when one wanted to cry? How could one sneer and mean it in jest?

A body was vexing and confusing and far too troublesome; without meaning to he caused offense, and he distressed people, and he had so little control over himself at the best of times. And it was distracting, and enthralling, a temptation the likes of which he’d never imagined before.

And when the elf asked him if he was free to leave, if he wanted to abandon the body and make his own way in the world, he answered truthfully.

_“I… do not know anymore.”_


	3. C is for Complexities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complex [noun]: a fixed idea, an obsessive notion; [adjective]: so complicated or intricate as to be hard to understand or deal with

There were many things he was coming to terms with in this new life, so many things that he had not anticipated or expected before he had crossed the Veil. Camaraderie was one of them; he had always felt a vague sort of kinship with the other spirits in the Fade, but they had always had different passions driving them, different virtues which they aspired to and emulated, and so they were content, as it were, for their paths not to cross.

Mortals, he was quickly learning, were vastly different.

“But you’re the _First_ Children.” Elissa Cousland was sitting beside him on the bench- or perhaps _lounging_ was the better word, he was getting more proficient in his use of verbs after all- swinging her foot restlessly as she stared up at the Amaranthine Chantry. “Doesn’t that mean, you know, that you guys know more about the Maker?”

Her overtures of companionship were perplexing, even after so many weeks. She was crass and abrupt, loud and confusing. He was told by the male Wardens that this was _normal_ for females, that all females were complex and confusing. But she was the Commander, and he had pledged his service, confusing or no.

“I fear I know no more about this Maker than you yourself, Commander,” he said, shifting a little, the warmth of the sunshine pleasing to him. “It is not as if he and I have ever met.”

She chuckled, and he glanced over at her. “Just pondering that,” she said with a grin, “and turning it into a bar joke in my head.”

“There is something inherently comical in my statement?”

“A spirit, a demon and the Maker walk into a bar,” she muttered, grinning wildly to herself. She cackled under her breath before turning back to him. “Ah, I jest, I jest. But seriously, you know nothing about the Maker?”

Her persistence was intriguing. Did she think he would suddenly change his mind, revealing thoughts and truths he had concealed before now? “I am told you have an older sibling, Commander.”

“I’ve told you to call me Elissa, and yes, I do. A brother. What’s that meathead got to do with anything?”

He flummoxed for a moment at the term _meathead_ , trying to determine what such a classification could possibly mean. He gave up. “Do you suppose he knows more about your forebears than you yourself?”

A glint came into her eyes. “Ohoh, I see what you’re doing, sneaky spirit. I won’t fall for your cunning logic. Or your deadpan charm.”

Confounded again by her choice of words. What in the Void did she mean by deadpan charm? “I am merely drawing the logical conclusion that being the first child does not necessarily commend you to your creator. Your sibling knows no more about your parents than you yourself. Likewise I have no evidence to speak of the Maker- according to your Chant of Light, he set us aside just as readily as he abandoned your race.”

She snorted- was that humour?- and dropped her head onto his shoulder. That seemed significant, and he glanced down at the top of her head as she continued speaking. “I just figured you’d know… you know?” Her speech craft left something to be desired sometimes. “You live in the Fade, and you see the Black City, and I just thought… well, what if you knew something we didn’t?”

He shifted, and she shifted with him. “Commander?”

“Elissa,” she corrected.

“Why are we sitting like this?”

She chuckled again. “Because I trust you not to grope me and sometimes a girl needs a little company without having to worry about that.”

He was silent for a moment, processing her words. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” he confessed finally.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it eventually. Just hug me.”

 _Get the hang of it?_ “Commander?”

“Elissa.”

“I still don’t understand.”


	4. D is for Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon [noun]: a person, habit, obsession etc thought of as evil, cruel or persistently tormenting; an evil passion or influence; a person with great energy or drive

_“You must have some desires…”_

_“I have none! Desist your questions!”_

The mage had tried to apologise, but it had done nothing to help- the idea was already lodged deep within him, an obsession, a fixation, something he churned over endlessly for the next few hours.

He abhorred demons, hated the perversions that drove them and the evils they perpetrated. He had spent his entire existence, every moment that he could recall, fighting demons and their ilk. Their lust and longing and their gleeful violence and deception had infuriated him, the very antithesis to all that he himself was.

Or had been. For he was here now, in this world of chaos and complexity, and when the mage needled him with aggravating questions, he snarled in anger not because he lacked patience with him, but because…

… he didn’t know anymore.

He had felt desire now, or the echo of it buried in the flesh of this withered, borrowed body. He had felt all manner of things, most of which were confusing, many of which he couldn’t name with confidence, but he felt them nonetheless. They resonated within him, and while he was fascinated by emotions in general, the questions today drove home a repellent possibility that he had not considered up until now.

There was a sound to his left, the creak of wood and metal, and he turned his head to see the Commander shoving open the door to the battlements with her shoulder. A look of relief passed over her face when she spotted him, and she made sure the door was firmly closed behind her before she walked casually towards him. “Justice,” she said, her tone indicating that she meant his name as a form of greeting, an oddity he’d yet to comprehend entirely.

Linguistics amongst the mortals was a daily challenge. “Commander,” he said, returning the greeting.

“Elissa,” she corrected, as was her wont. “How’re you doing? You seemed a little pissed at Anders. Granted, the lad has a tendency to run his mouth off at the best of times, but he seemed a little over exuberant even by his standards.”

Yet again, her choice of words mystified him for the most part. “Warden Anders is not a _lad_ , Commander. Nor was there any urination involved. A lad is defined as a boy or a youth, and given that he is older than yourself by at least-”

“Oh, shhh.” She sat down beside him, and for several long minutes neither of them said anything. He began to wonder if there was in fact a purpose to her visit at all, when she stirred restlessly and drew her sword, laying the gleaming weapon across her lap.

“So,” she said slowly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed at all, but I’m fairly often heavily armed. In fact, I don’t think I’m ever without a weapon, because I sleep with a knife under my pillow and a sword by my bed.” He didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything, so he waited for her to continue. “So I am, at any given moment, able to attack or defend, as the need may arise. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“But a weapon is not always used with the best intent,” she said, running her hand carefully down the blade. He felt he should warn her against being so careless with the sharp steel, but she would probably scowl at him and purposefully ignore him. He had begun to anticipate her moods now. “For example, what is to stop me from taking my sword from its sheathe, walking into the middle of the Amaranthine market and just hacking a swathe through the blissfully ignorant townsfolk?”

He frowned. “That would be an abhorrent thing to do, and completely out of character for you. You would never do such a thing; it is ridiculous even to suggest such a thing.”

She nodded, passing her sword from hand to hand as if she was weighing it. “Alright, so what is your primary objection to that scenario? Is it the violence? The fact that my opponents are unarmed and helpless? The lack of motivation for the killing?”

“There is…” He struggled for a moment, perplexed by her questions. “There is so much inherently wrong with it, I do not think I can isolate a primary objection.”

“Alright then. What if I were to jump down into the yard,” she said, gesturing with the sword, “and attack the soldiers and the wardens? Is that more acceptable? What’s stopping me from doing that?”

“I imagine I do not know, Commander. Really I do not know why you would even suggest such an atrocity in the first place.”

“It’s called free will, Justice,” she said, sheathing her sword with difficulty while still seated. He thought maybe he should point out that it would be easier if she stood up, but Warden Oghren had taught him this marvellous phrase about _pushing his luck_. He wasn’t quite sure he understood it entirely, but he knew it related to a situation such as this. “It’s about knowing what is good and right, about knowing that you have urges inside of you sometimes that just _don’t_ seem right, and choosing not to pay attention to them. It’s about being stronger, recognising the better path.”

“This all seems quite logical, Commander, but I don’t understand your reasons for telling me this.”

She smiled at him. “That’s what being a demon _is_ , Justice. It’s about standing and facing those desires and giving in to them. It’s about doing things for all the wrong reasons. You can use anger to drive your actions, and that doesn’t make you a rage demon. You are passionate about justice, and you pursue that with quite a lot of aggression- but that doesn’t make you a rage demon or a desire demon. As long as you always have the fortitude and the courage to turn aside at the right moment, then intent will never eventuate into action.”

Her reasoning suddenly became clear- she sought to comfort him. “But I am intent made manifest. I _am_ will, rather than action. And your intent may never translate to action, and you are safe, but you are mortal, a creature of more than just intent and will. What you do not realise is that I-”

“Have the same inherent ability to say ‘ _no, I will not stand for this_ ’ that I do,” she finished for him, poking him very firmly in the centre of his chest. “In the same way that you do not stand for the corruption that is the darkspawn, in the same way that you alone fought the Baroness for so long, you can stand against the darkness in your own heart. Mortals do it every single day, and you know what? A good number of us never succumb at all.”

He looked at her, looked to see any sign of deception in her face. “I do not have a heart, Commander.”

She snorted inelegantly and dropped back beside him. “Yeah you do,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. She seemed amused by something. “And that’s why you’ll never be a demon.”

Justice considered her words. “Commander?”

“Yes, Justice?”

“I am afraid. I don’t want to be a demon.”

“And when you are no longer afraid, that’s when you need to worry. But for now, I believe in you. I don’t think you’ll become a demon.”

“And I don’t think you will slaughter the people of Amaranthine.”

She smirked. “Aw, see, you know just what to say to a girl. That’s the spirit.”

“I am a spirit, yes.”

“And the worst part is that you don’t even realise what a magnificent joke you just made.”


	5. E is for Etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etiquette [noun]: conventional requirements as to social behaviour and engagement

“Are you quite certain, Warden Oghren? I have some difficulty believing that such a conversation would be considered appropriate.”

“Swear to the Ancestors, ain’t nothing but the truth to pass my pucker.” Oghren picked what was no less than a _pitcher_ of mead in a meaty fist and leered across the table. “’s only polite, if ya don’t want to embarrass yourself, or upset the Commander, or the _ladies_. Don’t want that, now, do ya?”

Justice frowned at him, indignation evident in his tone. “The Commander is female as well. Why does she not qualify for the term lady? She was raised in a noble household, and has by my understanding of the human societal structure earned the title.”

Next to Oghren, Anders muttered “I’ve never seen a woman who less embodies the title of lady than Elissa Cousland.”

His confusion grew. “Again, I’m not sure I understand. Forgive me, but the Commander meets all the necessary requirements: she is a female of marriageable age, from a prestigious family line. Her breeding and her bloodlines are satisfactory, although why they might be a measure of her worth are beyond me, and she is-”

“What Sparkle Fingers means,” Oghren said, glaring at the mage who merely shrugged, “is that it’s a question of manners. And etiquette. Both a which you‘re sadly lackin’ in.”

“Which brings us back to the original topic,” Anders said with a snigger, downing whatever questionable beverage remained in the bottom of his mug.

“Ah yes, the female Wardens.” Justice frowned at the two men, who were working hard to keep a straight face. “Are you quite certain? It is only that Warden Velanna has expressed her displeasure in the past at my attempting to discuss female bodies with her.”

Oghren held his hand up as if making a pledge. “Hand to the Stone, it’s the best thing ya can do for ‘em. They’re too skittish ta mention it ‘emselves, so y’gotta take the initiative. Opens up the conversation, gets it all flowing- they’ll be completely grateful.”

“Dwarf, I am inclined not to trust you when you are inebriated, but for the mage to agree with you…”

“He’s absolutely right,” Anders said, hands slapping firmly onto the table to reinforce his point. “It’s the best thing you can do for them. It’s only polite.”

Unease settled into resolve. For the two of them to agree so fervently, it must be correct. “Very well, then,” Justice said gravely. “Thank you for correcting me on this. I shall endeavour to remember it.”

***

“Commander?”

Elissa looked up from her desk. “Yes?” Velanna and Sigrun stood in the doorway, pained expressions on their faces. “Is something wrong?”

The two Wardens looked at one another. “We were hoping that you could have a word with-”

“- he just needs to be shown that it’s inappropriate-”

“- don’t know where he’s gotten these ideas-”

“- really not appreciated-”

“- may have hurt his feelings-”

“Whoa, whoa!” Elissa threw her hands up, looking between the two of them. “Girls, what in the Void? One at a time: _who_ are you talking about, and _what_ has he done?”

From between gritted teeth, Velanna said “It’s _Justice_.”

“He’s taken to asking, uh, _personal questions_ ,” Sigrun hedged. “He told me he understood that I was reluctant to bring the topic up myself, and that he was happy to talk about it with me.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache bubbling up behind her eyes, Elissa said “What exactly is he talking about with you?”

They both paused again. “He asked about my menses,” Velanna finally said, each word forced out as if it were trying to choke her. Sigrun had immediately gone red, and looked very much like she was trying not to laugh. “He said that it had been pointed out to him that he should enquire after my health in that regard.”

 _Maker Almighty_. “And you, Sigrun?”

“Same story, Lis,” the dwarf said with a grin. “Not that I don’t appreciate being coddled, but the middle of the mess hall ain’t the best place to bring it up. Not to mention, well, with the taint and all…”

Elissa sighed. “I’ll go talk to him,” she said, pushing back from her chair. “And find out who told him to ask.”

The look of relief on their faces was comical; she stored it away in her head to snicker over later. Later, when she didn’t have to go and educate naïve spirits on female reproduction and the quagmire of social boundaries entailed therein. “Cheers, Commander,” Sigrun said, slipping from the doorway. Velanna nodded curtly to her, before following quickly after.

***

She found him up on the battlements- he liked to go there, to watch the world flow around him, to feel the sun warm the deadened flesh around him- and he didn’t say a word as she slipped down onto the ground beside him. They were quiet together for some time, nearly ten minutes, before he finally spoke to her.

“I was incorrect, wasn’t I?”

She smiled and bit her tongue to stop from laughing aloud. “Unfortunately you were.”

He sighed, half frustration and half mourning. “I had hoped I had begun to grasp social mores with a little more confidence.”

“Well,” she said, nearly choking from the force of the laughter shaking her shoulders that she was fighting back, “it would help if you didn’t listen to Oghren and Anders on the finer points of culture and conversation.”

“You knew it was they who told me?”

“It wasn’t hard to work out.”

They lapsed into silence again, and she let him muddle through his thoughts. After a few minutes she heard him shifting uncomfortably and she lolled her head to the side to face him. “Mmhm?”

“So female bodies and reproductive functions are not appropriate topics of conversation after all?”

She couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer, and she nearly exploded from it, crying and cackling and leaning against him when she lost her balance _while sitting down_. Gasping for air some time later, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and said “No, Justice, they are most assuredly not. Or at least, not blurting it out in public like that without first finding out if the woman is comfortable discussing it with you.”

“But how am I supposed to know if they are comfortable discussing it with me if I do not ask first?”

“Oh, Justice, sweetie.” She patted him on the cheek. “You’ll get the hang of this one day. Don’t worry.”


	6. F is for Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fade [verb]: to become dim, as light, or lose brightness of illumination or vividness of colour; to lose freshness, vigour, strength or health; to disappear or die gradually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for head injuries

They emerged from beneath the earth, bewildered and exhausted, still bleeding from their encounters with the darkspawn and the Architect. Justice did not feel the same weariness that beset the mortals, but his body was not as responsive, not as quick as he would have liked, and he struggled to match their pace. 

Despite having fought their way to freedom their troubles were not yet done, for the forest was teeming with creatures who gleefully hurled themselves at the fatigued Wardens. They fought their way desperately clear of one group after another, battling their way to the edge of the forest and closer to home. But the waves of darkspawn seemed unending, and they began to flag and fade as the hours passed, each battered by dozens of little nicks and bruises. Nathaniel’s arrows did not fly free with quite as much speed; Velanna’s spells took longer to build within her palms. Justice and Elissa waded into the fray time and time again, swords flying, back to back as the packs threatened to swarm straight over the top of them. Elissa stared them down grimly, barely batting an eyelid when they were faced with yet another group followed by a lumbering ogre.

She fought with the fury of a demon, despite her weakness, and she did not falter. She slew the ogre quickly, the ground shaking as the huge creature toppled over. Dust flew into the air at the impact, and she spun about, shouting orders as she blinked away grit. Justice was fighting back three genlocks when he saw the hurlock appear out of the cloud like a fiend breaking free of the Veil, and he felt a sickening fear surge up within him. It was the same fear that he felt when he questioned his purpose and his integrity, when he wondered if he was veering too close to the poisonous yearnings that made up a demon, except _now_ it was not fear saved for himself but for a _mortal_ , a fragile creature of flesh and bone who did not know the danger looming.

He shouted a warning, a sharp retort across the battleground, and by sheer luck she heard and understood, and she turned-

Not fast enough. The blow hit her in the chest, meaty fist and spiked club both making contact with her body. It was heavy enough to send her flying through the air.

They all heard the heart-stopping crunch when she hit the nearby rocks, and the way her eyes rolled back into her head as she sagged immediately to the ground. She didn’t get back up.

Fear morphed painfully into fury, wild and ferocious, and he was across the field in four strides; the hurlock was roaring in triumph, head tipped back towards the sky. It was the last thing the darkspawn saw before he decapitated it in one furious, lurching swing.

They made short work of the rest, some of the creatures scattering when they saw the rage that had overtaken the standing Wardens. And then they were alone again, the two mortals panting for breath before dropping everything and sprinting towards their fallen commander. Justice circled about to check that they were indeed alone, logic telling him that it was best to take precautions, before heading towards his fallen leader.

“Maker, _Elissa!_ ” Nathaniel had dropped to his knees beside her, lifting her head off the ground and turning her face towards them. Her face was pale and blood ran from her nose and mouth.

“ _Don’t jolt her_ , you idiot shem!” Velanna dropped to the other side, hands shaking as she drew upon her mana. Justice leaned in instinctively towards the pull; it was like standing in a stifling hot house, only for someone to open a window and let in a deliciously cool breeze. The hint of _home_ as she drew on the Fade was like music being played at the end of the hallway, and he strained to hear it.

Nathaniel was fumbling through his pack. “I have some health poultices…”

“She’s beyond that!” Velanna was white and shaking, eyes wide with fear. “This is not something that can be healed with a potion. I don’t- I can’t even heal her myself! My skills are rudimentary at best: she’ll need Anders if she’s to survive.”

“She is not dead then?” Justice knew the emotion that barrelled through him to be relief- he was growing more acquainted every day with feelings both pleasant and unpleasant that this life was bringing him.

“No, she’s not, but I can’t guarantee that she won’t die yet. The damage to her head is substantial- her spirit has fled to the Fade in order to escape the pain.”

That at least was familiar territory to him. The Fade was his domain, and Elissa had been a force to be reckoned with even there. “She will be fine then.”

Velanna gave him a look as if she thought him to be mad, before turning to Nathaniel. “Run ahead to Vigil’s Keep, and get Anders. We’ll bring her as carefully as possible.”

The archer was nodding as he rose to his feet. “Stick to the main roads, and we’ll meet you halfway,” he said, before turning and sprinting back down the trail. He vanished into the gloom in seconds.

“You, spirit.” He turned back to the elf, who was wiping at her face with the back of her hands. Her voice was shaking. “Pick her up- gently. And if she dies, you’re _not_ to possess her body, you hear?” 

He knelt obediently and picked up the fallen woman. She did not make a sound as he pulled her up against his chest. “She’s not going to die. She is only in the Fade; she will come back when she is ready.”

Velanna made a scornful noise. “She’s not a _mage_ , Justice, she can’t just come and go from the Fade as she pleases!”

“Mortals do so when they sleep.”

“She’s not sleeping! She’s gone there as a last resort, because her mind is fragmenting from the pain and the pressure of her injury. And she’s not a mage, she can’t survive there for long.”

He frowned as he began to pick his way carefully over the ground, so as not to jolt her. “Why can you just not enter the Fade and retrieve her? You are a mage.”

“This is not _sleep_ , Justice, she’s not just going to wake up from this because we want her to!” There was a hysterical edge to her voice and her movements were jerky. “She might _die_ from this!”

“Yes, but she is in the Fade. She has been there before.”

Velanna snapped to a halt and turned to him, her eyes wild with panic and frustration. “Justice,” she ground out, “if her body _dies_ , she will be _trapped_ there. Her spirit will be forever doomed to wander the Fade, untethered, confused and frustrated and _lost_ , until she finally begins to forget that she was ever human in the first place. And she will slowly fracture and splinter until she is nothing but shards of what she was, fleeting and broken and forgotten. So just because she’s been there before doesn’t mean anything: if we take too long to bring her back, or if her body is too damaged to heal, _it doesn’t matter!_ She is in the Fade, and she will be lost to us.”

And she turned on her heel and stomped off down the trail, and he had no choice but to follow her. He glanced down at the woman in his arms, far too still, far too silent. She was usually so full of life- loud and offensive and rambunctious, the first to cause mischief and the last to leave trouble alone. To see her like this…

Suddenly the Fade was an alien territory to him; suddenly it was _not_ home, and it was not comforting and welcoming. Was she as confused as he was in _this_ realm, just as baffled by what most considered to be mundane? Would she drift apart slowly without a body to tether her spirit to, just as the others teased him about being bound to dust motes?

The thought was terrifying, all the more poignant in that so very few things roused true emotions within him. She deserved better than that- she deserved a decisive death, an ending befitting of her. She did not deserve to wander lost and afraid, slowly fading, slowly forgotten.

He looked down at her. “You will not fade, Elissa,” he said, out of hearing range of Velanna. “You are far greater than that.”

***

It was very late, close to dawn two days later, when she finally stirred. He had taken to sitting by her bedside, because the others needed sleep where he did not- the body needed to rest, to absorb the pressures he had endured during the day, but his mind did not need to slumber in the same fashion that theirs did. He was quite able to rest his body just by remaining still and quiet. So he sat beside her through all the hours of the night, and then the proceeding day when the room bustled with activity- when Anders exhausted himself with more healings, when Varel and Nathaniel stood in the corner and argued about what exactly had taken place in the woods, when Velanna stood over Anders’ shoulder and offered criticisms while she wrung her hands together desperately. The dwarfs stood by awkwardly, Sigrun attempting to be cheerful and Oghren attempting to be improper, both for the sake of lightening the mood. They both succeeded, to some extent.

And through it all, Elissa faded, neither in one realm nor the other. But he knew, unequivocally, that this was not the way she would choose to die should it come to that. And since she wouldn’t have it that way, he refused to accept it too.

A soft, pained noise came from the bed and his eyes flickered to her face. She was blinking, expression dazed, eyes swamped by pain. He sat forward quickly. “Commander?”

“Elissa,” she rasped, her voice raw and reedy with agony. She turned her head slightly to face him and choked on a sob. “Where am I?”

“Not in the Fade,” he said, sure she would find it a comfort. “I told them you would not drift off into death. They said you would slip away. I disagreed.”

Her lips twitched as if attempted a smile. “You did, did you?” she whispered, then grimaced. “Water?”

There was a pewter mug on the bedside cabinet, and he handed to her. Her lips twitched again and she managed “Help?” When he only stared, she clarified. “Help me to sit up?”

Understanding her meaning, he got an arm underneath her and pulled her into a sitting position; she only cried out in pain once, which he took to be a good sign. She held the mug with shaking hands and managed a few small sips, choking slightly. She was cringing as he helped her to lie back down, eyes drifting shut already. He expected her to fall asleep.

“Did you bet on me?”

Apparently she had other plans. “I beg your pardon, Commander?”

“Elissa,” she corrected as always, hand to her head and eyes clenched tight with pain. “Did you place a wager on my waking up? Since you were certain I wasn’t going to fade away?”

“Oh. Yes. Warden Oghren explained it to me, and he assured me it was fine to use the money in your desk to wager on your behalf.”

“He did, did he?” Her breathing sounded pained, rattling in her chest, and it occurred to him he should fetch Anders. As he stood to go, her hand crept across the blanket and snared his. “You believed in me? You bet that I would make it?”

He sat back down. “Of course. You have never doubted me for a moment: I could do nothing but offer you the same respect.” He paused. “And you proved to be much more capable at adapting to the Fade than I ever was at adapting to the mortal realm.”

She smiled weakly, lips trembling as a soft, pained sob broke from her. “And yet you learned to gamble while I was gone,” she said in a wobbly voice. “And made a profit. That’s my Fade spirit.”


	7. G is for Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift [noun]: something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favour toward someone

“Justice?”

He looked up to see Elissa standing nearby, an awkward expression on her face. “Commander,” he said by way of greeting, standing a little straighter in her presence.

“Elissa,” she corrected automatically, rubbing at her arm and avoiding his gaze. She had a book in her other hand. “Do you ever get bored, standing out here?”

 _Here_ was the battlements atop Vigil’s Keep, where he could stand mostly uninterrupted and observe the mortal world as it passed by him. “I am content,” he replied honestly, “and I have thoughts to occupy myself. I require nothing else.”

That seemed to distress her. “Really? I mean… nothing?” She tucked the book half behind her leg, resting it on her thigh. Then she straightened, a spark replacing the uncertainty in her eyes. “I thought that, as your Commander, you might like some assistance in acclimatising yourself to this realm. To that end, I’ve brought you something.”

She stretched out her hand, the book offered up between them. After a moment’s surprised hesitation, he took it from her, turning the book over to see the title- _Verses of Dreams_. “What is this?” he asked, turning it over again in his hands, running deadened fingers over the faded leather cover.

“It’s…” Her momentary strength evaporated, and she stumbled to a halt again. “It’s poetry, about how mortals perceive the Fade. I thought it might help you to better understand how we think.”

“I see,” he said, easing it open to a random placement and examining the yellowed page and faded letters. “I shall return it to you as soon as I have finished-”

“No no no!” She lurched forward and closed her hands around his, keeping the book firmly in his grasp. “It’s a gift, you don’t give gifts back- I want you to keep it.”

Taken aback, he frowned slightly. “But what use would I have for it once I have read it?”

He did not think he had ever seen her so off balance; there was colour in her cheeks, and she couldn’t keep his gaze. Clearly his questions were upsetting her. “A gift is something you keep, Justice, even if you don’t always have a use for it all the time. Sometimes gifts aren’t always practical, but you keep them because… um…”

He waited, but she did not go on immediately. “Because?”

The colour in her cheeks crept higher. “Because sometimes they are given with intent, as a token of friendship and lo- _care_.” She swallowed. “I _want_ you to have it.”

Thinking for a moment, he finally nodded. “Very well,” he said, easing the book away from her. “As you command, I shall keep it.”

“No, it’s not-” She shook her head in frustration, hands closing over his and pushing the book towards him. “Justice, this is a _gift_ , because I am your _friend_. Do you understand that? I don’t want you to keep this because you think I ordered you to keep it- I want you to keep it because it’s yours now, because I gave it to you for completely impractical and silly reasons, and because I’m your _friend_. It’s not like me giving you armour or weapons, because you need those to survive- this about me just wanting to give you something to show that you are important to me. Okay?”

He considered her for a moment, the anxious tension in her body and the nervous hesitation in her eyes. Clearly his response meant a great deal to her. “I had never considered friendship before,” he said slowly. “Or that I might possess something of my very own. Ownership is… a strange concept.” He turned the book over in his hands, learning the weight of it, the shape of it, the feel of it. And it was his now, at her command. It made him feel… powerful, to an extent, that she would take the time to bestow it on him. “So, I am to take this as confirmation that we are friends?”

The relief in her eyes was palpable as she nodded firmly. “Yes, yes we are certainly friends. _Definitely_ friends. You believed in me when I was hurt, and I helped you with Aura, and you listen patiently whenever I complain which is quite frequently- we are most certainly friends.”

That made sense- or at least, more so than the gift itself. _His_ gift. “I see,” he said, resolve building within him. He put his hand to her shoulder, noticing once again that he misjudged his strength and made her stagger slightly. “Very well- I shall let no harm come to it, and I shall defend it from others. Since it stands as the covenant of our friendship, I will treat it with nothing but care and respect and diligent observation.”

She laughed, the apprehension leaving her eyes. “No, Justice, it’s okay, it’s just…” She shook her head, smiling. “Never mind. Yes, protect it from evil doers and let it stand as the covenant of our friendship.”

He couldn’t help but ask “Are you amused by something, Commander?”

She waved a hand absently. “Nothing at all, it’s fine. Just- remind me that if I’m ever to give you a gift again, I need to make sure I have the whole afternoon free. I wasn’t expecting to have to give a lecture along with the book.”

She was always so confusing. “In my understanding of gift giving, I am now obliged to find an item for you in return, yes?”

“Oh Maker no! You’ll kidnap a small child by accident or hand me a raw piece of lyrium and unintentionally kill me, or something else horrific! Please, this has been awkward enough, let’s just leave it at this?” She stepped in close, one hand over the book and one hand on his chest, a pleading look in her eyes. “A gift from a friend?”

Perplexed by her and her quicksilver moods, he simply nodded. “Very well. A gift from a friend. I thank you, Commander.”

She sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. Surprisingly she looked mostly disappointed. “You’re welcome Justice,” she said ruefully. “You’re welcome.”


	8. H is for Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honesty [noun]: the quality or act of being honest; uprightness and fairness; truthfulness, sincerity and frankness; freedom from deceit or fraud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depression

Mortals had little understanding of the concept of honesty, he had found. Or if they did, they chose not to employ it all that often. 

It was frustrating, because so often they misspoke, or garbed their words in humour, or chose to hide behind a thousand other nonverbal cues that were instantly recognisable to one another and yet passed him by without a thought. So many hints that he could not interpret, so many prompts where they clearly expected him to respond in one way and the conversation ended with arms thrown in the air in frustration, the mortals stomping away and muttering under their breath.

There was sarcasm, which he was slowly coming to understand was supposed to be a form of humour. He had learned that sometimes the most obvious statements were the most suspect, especially when it was accompanied with a smile or laughter. But he got that wrong sometimes, and it caused offence when he tried to suggest that people might be speaking dishonestly.

Some of them lied out of laziness, because it was easier than facing the truth. Anders, he found, was quite good at distorting his words, and Sigrun never seemed to make a shred of sense- he couldn’t tell if she was a compulsive liar or simply mad. He did his best for her, trying to teach her the errors of her ways, and he tried to convince Nathaniel that his crimes were a reflection of his character.

They brushed him off; they couldn’t see the magnitude of their sins, how fundamentally wrong it was to deal in deception and dishonesty. He annoyed them, apparently.

He couldn’t pretend to understand them in this regard, and even the one person he could depend on to explain the complexities of this world to him was not infallible. 

Sometimes Elissa sought solitude away from the other Wardens, usually at night when she would be less likely to be missed. She did not make a strenuous effort to hide herself- she was always in the same place, sitting in the dark corner of the battlements that he had come to think of as their corner, because he spent long hours alone up here, observing the world as it passed him, and occasionally when her duties would allow it, the Commander joined him. Sometimes they sat in silence, other times she queried him about all manner of things to do with the Fade and with spirits, some of which he found genuinely amusing in their naivety. 

Most of the time he sought clarification from her, questioning her about this confusingly beautiful world and all the life that churned within it; she laughed at his uncertainties, but she never refused to explain to him. 

Until tonight.

There was a light misting rain, enough for him to acknowledge she would probably be uncomfortable out of doors. She was standing in the darkness, her face tipped up towards the clouds- and she was crying as if her heart was breaking.

It was such an odd human expression, but he felt that he understood the sentiment behind it, for surely the fracturing of such a vital organ would cause enough pain to warrant significant tears. He wasn’t quite sure how a mortal survived such an incident, if indeed they did, or if it was another of their whimsical proverbs. Another strange lie masquerading as wisdom. 

She showed no trace of having recognised his approach, sobbing into the rain, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her body language was awkward, pained, frustrated- he wasn’t sure what to make of her mood. The tears made no sense with the fists she was making, the dejected set of her shoulders a contrast to the tension in her frame. 

“Commander?” The rain was cold, and it seeped into the body he wore, icy water deadening the flesh further and tightening the joints. 

She finally acknowledged him, bowing her head and pressing a clenched fist to her mouth. “Go away Justice,” she managed to choke out. “Just leave me alone.”

He paused, confused by her greeting. She had not immediately corrected his choice of name for her. “Are you unwell? It is inadvisable for you to be exposing yourself to such extremes of temperature so recently after your recovery. You should come indoors.”

A noise escaped her that could have been a bitter laugh. “I’m not sick, Justice,” she said flatly. “I’m just _fine_. Now leave me alone.”

The wind gusted softly, bringing fresh waves of damp in the air. If he found it uncomfortable, he could only imagine how bad it would be for her. “You are clearly not fine,” he said, frowning and taking a few steps towards her. “Your behaviour clearly indicates you are distressed by something. This is hardly the most favourable environment for you to-”

“ _I said I was fine!_ ”

She turned on him quickly, her hand striking out against his chest as if she meant to shove him backwards. He took a step back in surprise, neatly avoiding the second fist. “Commander?” 

“Leave me alone!” she screeched, sobbing so wildly that her words were nearly incomprehensible. When she shoved at him again, he frowned and managed to catch her by the wrist. She fought at his hold, but not with any real strength, and after a moment she slumped miserably, her angry tears giving way to something that sounded a great deal more hopeless.

He stared at her, eyes moving over her face as he sought to gain her measure. Finally he said “I do not understand, Commander. Have I done something to offend?” It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last time. “You are clearly not fine, why would you say otherwise?”

She drooped further, her head coming to rest on the centre of his chest. Her shoulders were shaking from the force of her tears, and he didn’t know what to do except continue to hold her wrist. “I need to be fine,” she whispered, “because everyone needs me to be. Everyone needs me to be the Hero of the Blight, the Warden Commander. They need me to be infallible, faultless, and I-” She broke off for a moment, fighting to regain control of herself. “And I’m _not._ ”

He paused for several long moments, turning her words over in his head. There was no sound but for her weeping, and the occasional gust of wind through the trees along the boundary. “You are being dishonest about your capabilities?” he said finally.

She let out a sound that was somewhat like a watery, bitter laugh. “Screw you, you stupid spirit, you have no idea what I have to do to survive.”

It took him by surprise, her unkindness. She, of all the people in this world, had gone out of her way to make him feel welcome, to not feel bewildered and confused and out of place. For her to speak so… he felt an unpleasantness in him- was it grief? Hurt? Shame? He had no point of reference for these things, nothing but the hollow echoes of what Kristoff once felt. It was not the same, and he was confused. 

“Forgive me for intruding, Commander,” he said stiffly, letting go of her hand. It was awkward now, and he did not know how to fix it. “I shall leave you to your solitude, as requested.”

He made a move to leave, but her arms snaked around his waist, and she was crying still, face buried against his chest. “ _Don’t go._ ”

Her moods were as swift to change as the storms that sweep over the keep some nights. She was completely mystifying to him. 

“I have to be strong for everyone else,” she said softly, her words broken by her intermittent sobs. “No one wants to see me as the girl who lost her parents, and her friends and her home, to betrayal. No one wants to see me as the young woman who gets claustrophobic in the Deep Roads, and who’s afraid of spiders. They want… the Hero of the Blight. They want me to be seven feet tall, with fire in my eyes. They want me to be confident, to always have the answers before the questions are even asked.”

She sniffed, pulling back to rub her sleeve over her face. “And you know, sometimes I can be that woman. I like being powerful, and I like telling people what to do, and I like the respect. But sometimes…” She trailed off, her lip trembling before she shook her head violently. “Sometimes it’s too much, the memories and the fear and so I have to pretend to be her, until I work out how to be strong again.”

“You are still being insincere,” he said, not sure what to do with his hands. Was this one of those occasions where she insisted upon hugging? “If you were honest with everyone regarding your capabilities, then you would-”

“It’s a coping mechanism, Justice,” she said bitterly, “and one that mortals learn young. Lying is never inherently bad, it’s your intent and what you’re lying about that causes problems. Me putting on a stupid mask until I can sneak away to cry doesn’t hurt anyone at all- in fact it makes everyone else much happier.”

He didn’t even pause. “It does not make you happy,” he pointed out. “Not that I have ever noticed you wearing a mask, however.”

She laughed again, this time with more feeling. “It doesn’t make me happy,” she agreed, sniffing loudly. She slowly unwound herself from where she had clung to him. “But I think I’m okay now. I think I’d like to get in out of the rain.”

“Are you going to stop being dishonest?” he pressed as he led her towards the door. “If it is making you unhappy, you should desist immediately.”

She didn’t even bat an eyelid. “Of course, Justice,” she said, shivering once they were in out of the wind and her damp clothes settled over her properly. “No more lying at all.” 

He decided, hours later, that perhaps she’d been lying when she’d promised him she would be nothing but honest going forward. But she’d been so upset, and so far removed from the confident woman she normally presented… he told himself that she would have no reason to lie to him, not like the mortals who surrounded her. Not for this, an issue so serious. 

He convinced himself that she had been nothing but truthful, never realising the simplicity in lying to himself just to protect her feelings.


	9. I is for Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy [noun]: a close, familiar and usually affectionate or loving personal relationship with another person or group; the quality of being warm, comfortable or familiar; an act or expression serving as a token of familiarity, affection, or the like

Sometimes words stuck with him, long after a conversation had ended, gnawing at him as he turned them over endlessly in his head. He inspected the whole discussion, word by word, taking apart the inflections and the cadences of the speaker’s words. He tried to eliminate sarcasm, outright deception, cynicism. There were signals he missed, and humour that simply eluded him. 

Most of the time, like today, he simply gave up and sought another opinion.

“Commander.”

“Elissa,” she responded absently, not looking up from the letter she was scrawling rather haphazardly. There was a smear of ink on her cheek. “What can I do for you, Justice?”

He paused to watch her write for a moment, the movement of her hand graceful despite the scratchy letters blooming to life on the parchment. “Warden Oghren has been questioning me of late,” he said, finally drawing himself from the distraction her hand provided, “and I believe he is alluding to copulation, but his choice of words confuses me. I wonder if you might be willing to enlighten me and explain.”

She made a choking noise, and the colour leeched from her face instantly- the black smear of ink stood out in stark relief against her skin as her gaze snapped up to his; he knew enough to recognise the look in her eyes as panic. She vaulted upwards from her chair, stumbling a little as she fought to get her feet under her, and knocked a stack of papers to the floor as she lunged around the desk. He watched them settle across the plush carpet as she leapt past him and slammed the door shut. 

He turned to see her hiding her face in her hands, before straightening and muttering “I need a drink.”

She didn’t look at him at all as she marched over to the side table bearing a silver tray laden with crystal glasses and the amber liquid she and half the other Wardens seemed so fond of. He still refused to refer to them as spirits. She didn’t even take the time to pour it, removing the stopper and instead drinking straight from the decanter. She gasped when she set it back down, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. It still didn’t remove the ink blot on her cheek, though, and he wondered whether to point it out to her.

“Why did you close the door?” he asked instead. 

She ignored him entirely. “So,” she said awkwardly, pushing off heavily from the sideboard and turning to face him. She was still having trouble meeting his gaze, and when she stopped in front of him, arms crossed firmly across her body as she rested her hip against the desk, her eyes hovered somewhere just above his left shoulder. Most peculiar. “You think Oghren’s been talking about sex. What precisely is the problem?”

“His language is perplexing,” he said, frowning as he tried to catch her gaze. “He refers to horses, and butter, and plumbing. He asks me if I enjoy my body, if I am a true man yet. I am clearly in the body of a male human- is he concerned that this body has decayed to the point where it is no longer defined? I am happy to show him the-”

“No no no, Justice, _no!_ ” Her face went bright red, and she lunged forward again, hands flapping desperately as if she was waving the words away. “Please, for the love of Andraste, do _not_ go exposing yourself to people!”

Perplexed by her very adamant response, he simply said “Very well, I will not give him the proof he requires. But what of the rest? His words make no sense to me, how am I to respond?”

She made an odd gurgling noise, as if she was choking back a laugh, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Maker Almighty…”

“Commander?”

She didn’t even bother to correct him this time, eyes closed as she muttered “Give me a minute.”

The seconds ticked by and became minutes and she didn’t start talking. He was about to prompt her again, because perhaps she had fallen asleep, or had consumed too much alcohol, when she cleared her throat and opened her eyes. 

“There are different levels of, uh… _involvement_ ,” she said, and her face was still bright red. He found the flush of blood to the top layers of her skin to be such a peculiar feature of mortal physiology, because it served no purpose to the best of his knowledge. “And I’m sure that, given your access to Kristoff’s memories, you are at least aware of sex-”

“I am aware of the act of copulation, yes. Mortals dream of it constantly.”

The look of blatant horror on her face was startling. “Oh, Maker’s Breath, you never saw any of _mine_ did you? While you were still in the Fade?”

He frowned. “I had no interest in the dreams of mortals, or your world. I knew of these things in passing, but most of those dreams provided nourishment for demons. I avoided them where possible.”

She still looked nauseous, and dropped her head into her hands. “Good to know that some kinky desire demon is getting off on my fantasies,” she groaned, straightening again and looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Right, well. What Oghren is talking about is sex, but um… his interpretation of the encounter is probably markedly different from any memories you might have of Kristoff and his wife.”

“It is true, I have no recollection of them engaging a horse in the deed.”

She choked again, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh Maker, you just… you have no idea what you’re saying sometimes, do you?”

“Commander?”

“Never mind!” She shook her head furiously, the colour in her cheeks deepening. “Okay. So um, Oghren is being lewd because it’s just his way of communicating. All of those things he was saying were euphemisms, but what I want you to understand is that _his_ understanding of sex is particularly… base. It won’t match up with the memories you have of a married couple- or Maker, I don’t know, maybe it does and they were wild and kinky in the bedroom. Quiet, Chantry going ones are always the ones you have to suspect the most.”

He stared at her. “I’m sorry, Commander, but I do not understand what you are talking about at all.”

She shook her head again, as if coming out of a daydream. “Of course, sorry; I somehow got us lost on a discussion about sex and intimacy when it really didn’t need to be anything more than ‘yes Oghren is being filthy, ignore him’.” She rubbed at the back of her neck awkwardly, still avoiding his gaze. “Sorry about that, hope I didn’t confuse you.”

“You did,” he said frankly. 

She sighed. “Okay, let me try again. Oghren is talking about sex, and he is being lewd to try and amuse himself and to get a rise out of other people. What I got distracted by was trying to explain that you should not apply his standards to whatever memories you have, because undoubtedly there is a great deal of love and respect and intimacy wound up in those memories that will probably be…” She was gesturing with her hands vaguely, and he could tell she was frustrating herself. “This is a lot weirder to explain than I thought.”

“Please take your time, Commander. I am in no rush.”

She finally looked at him, mild annoyance in her gaze- but she was smiling. “Of course you aren’t, you bastard,” she muttered, looking away quickly. She was still bright red. “Alright. Summary form- Oghren was talking about sex. You can ignore him. The things he’s alluding to have little to do with the memories you have. You memories involve a couple in love, making love, being in love, and that’s a very intimate relationship to have. Oghren’s language undermines that, reduces it purely to the physical relationship, but there’s…. um, a lot more to sex when you are committed to the other person.”

He nodded. “Yes, I can sense that this body- Kristoff- loved Aura a great deal. Yet is not the act of copulation intimate, given that the two bodies need to en-”

“Oh Maker, please stop!” She quickly covered his mouth with her hand, panic in her eyes. “Okay let’s wind this up quickly, because I really don’t want to be giving a sex lesson to a Fade spirit- intimacy doesn’t need to have anything to do with sex. And sex doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with intimacy. To be intimate with someone means…” She visibly struggled for a moment. “To be emotionally close to someone, to know them and be comfortable with them, to love and respect them. It’s more about how they make you feel, and how you want to make them feel; and sometimes that translates over to wanting to make them feel good physically too. Which is where you might find it confusing because that’s when it can mean the, uh, physical act of intimacy as well. I’m rambling, and not doing a good job, I should really just shut up.”

He regarded her carefully, turning her words over in his head. Trying to take apart the inflections, the emphasis on certain syllables; he could tell she wasn’t being sarcastic, she rarely was with him, but still… she was a confusing mortal. “So, by your explanation, intimacy is more an emotional state of being, but can become a physical expression as well?”

A look of intense relief crossed over her face. “Yes, that’s it exactly. And it’s not always about sex, people can be intimate without ever, uh, _succumbing_ to that. Friends can be intimate, and family can be intimate. Sort of.”

“It seems to be a very problematic word. It tries to describe too many situations at once.” After a long pause, he finally nodded. “But that explanation will suffice,” he said, “and thank you for making the effort to help me understand.”

She visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging. “You’re welcome. And please- don’t mention this to the other Wardens. Especially not Oghren. I can just see what he would try and turn it into.”

He frowned at her. “It is a conversation- an intangible thing. He cannot turn it into something else, it needs physical form for him to do so.”

“No, Justice, I mean-” She smiled ruefully. “Never mind. Anything else I can help you with?” 

He probably could have gone then, his curiosity relatively sated, but something was bothering him. He reached over and rubbed his thumb over the mark on her face. The smear lessened but didn’t disappear entirely; his frown deepened.

She looked startled, her hand going up to cover his. “What are you doing?”

“You have ink.” He showed her the mark, now staining his finger. “I’m trying to remove it for you.”

She laughed somewhat shakily. “Oh, never mind about that, I’ll get it.” She reached into her pocket and tugged free a handkerchief, wetting the corner of it with her mouth.

She dabbed the cloth at her face, missing the precise location of the stain; he frowned again. “You cannot do it yourself without a looking glass. Allow me.” He didn’t give her a chance to object; he took the handkerchief from her and wiped it over her cheek, his other hand holding her by the chin to keep her still; her eyes went wide and the blush faded from her face almost the moment he touched her. Now she looked almost ill. The mark slowly faded, but not by enough: he held the cloth to her mouth and her eyes widened significantly. But she obediently took the corner of the fabric into her mouth for a moment before letting it go, and he finished wiping the mark away from her cheek with the dampened handkerchief. 

“There,” he said, satisfied with his work. “The mark is gone.” He held out the handkerchief to her.

She only stared at him.

He waited a moment or two, before shaking it in front of her eyes. “Commander, perhaps it would be in your best interest to begin breathing again. Mortals are not capable of surviving without breathing, after all.”

She sucked in a breath, a noisy gasp, and her hand went to the table behind her to hold her up, keep her steady. Her other hand went to her cheek, where he had removed the ink stain, and her eyes fell away from his. “Of course,” she said, light hearted again, “that was silly of me. If that will be all, I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me alone for a time. It’s just that I, uh, have so much paperwork to catch up on, and I’d love to spend time with you, don’t get me wrong, but I just really need to-”

“I will leave you to your work, Commander,” he said, extending the handkerchief again. “There is no need for extended apologies.”

Her gaze flickered from the fabric to his face and back again. “Keep it,” she blurted out suddenly. “Keep it, and… leave. _Please._ ”

With a shrug, he tucked the handkerchief inside his sleeve, as he had seen the other mortals do, and left her to her work.

She really could be so strange sometimes.


	10. J is for Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice [noun]: the quality or fact of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness

When they pressed him for a name, it was somewhat of a revelation. He’d never had a name before, never even considered needing one and it confused him that his existence should necessitate a title. He _was_ , and he _did_ , and had so for some time without ever needing a name to justify himself, so why did he need one now? 

Yet the Grey Warden insisted- and she herself was confusing, for she had so many names herself. Which was the most accurate? She called herself a Grey Warden, and insisted that he call her Elissa. But the others who accompanied her instead called her Commander, or Cousland, or Boss. And, as he was to find out in the weeks to come, that wasn’t even the extent of it- others still called her Arlessa, or Lady, or Messere, or Tempestuous Bitch. He learned quickly that the last was not to be repeated, not under any circumstances, and was usually voiced only by those marked for death. 

He did not wish to be marked for death, and so he refrained from using that one.

But a name… a name was such a difficult thing, for it defined the way in which the world responded to you. He saw it everywhere- the condescension and fear that accompanied the name _mage_. The sneering and the distrust that accompanied the name _Dalish_. They were just words, but they held power, and they shaped expectations. He himself could not understand why Sigrun would choose to adopt the name _Dead_ when she was so very clearly not. It made no sense.

This was all to follow in weeks to come of course. In that one moment, however, he did not have such a bewildering world to draw upon for context. In that moment he had one mortal, one woman, demanding to know his name.

“I have no name,” he said, when she continued to press. He didn’t know why it mattered, for there were much more important things to attend to, like the Baroness, and the darkspawn. “Only a virtue to which I aspire.”

The mage at the back of the group snickered, and muttered something under his breath. The female dwarf beside him elbowed him and he closed his mouth, but the grin remained.

The Grey Warden crossed her arms over her chest, the casual stance belying the exhaustion she must have been feeling. With a raised eyebrow she said “Oh? And which virtue is it that you’re emulating, my dear spirit? Because I have to say that yelling out ‘ _Ass-Kicking Badass_ ’ in the middle of battle is going to get tiring quickly.”

He simply stared at her. Was she addled, perhaps? Was that even a question? When he stared for too long, the female dwarf cleared her throat noisily and said “She means you fought well in the Fade. It’s a compliment.” 

But it was a name, a title- was a compliment now appropriate for use as a name? And she’d said the name would get tiring, so… was it really a compliment? 

Mortals were ridiculously confusing. 

“You may refer to me as Justice,” he said slowly, eyeing the Warden with some trepidation, “for it is what I seek with every part of my being.”

She returned his gaze, silent as she considered him. There was something significant in her gaze, he felt, something above the humour and the joking that had composed the greater part of her exchanges so far. Finally she nodded, just once. “Justice it is then,” she said firmly, and for a moment he understood how she could wear the name _Commander_. And she smiled. “Welcome to the team- you’re with the right people if that’s what gets you hot.”

It was the first of many, _many_ conversations where her choice of words was utterly mystifying to him. But for all that she confused him, she never made him doubt his choice of name. 

He was Justice. And for now, that was all he needed.


	11. K is for Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss [verb]: to express a thought, feeling, emotion etc by a contact of lips; to touch lightly or gently; an action to express respect, gratitude, affection, friendship, passion or love

Aura was kneeling by the candles at the front of the Chantry, lost in her mourning, and did not hear them approach until the last minute. At his request, Elissa had asked the other Wardens to wait outside, and for that he was immensely grateful. He didn’t know why but he felt a great deal of trepidation in regards to this meeting: he wanted it to go well, without any further accusations or screams or scenes to make him feel deeply discomforted. And he did not want an audience for what he was attempting to do. 

This woman, _Aura_ , occupied far too much of his thoughts. She was important to this body, the memories of her perhaps even stronger emotionally than the ones he had built for himself in the last few weeks. It was because of her that he even knew how to catalogue the sensations inside of him, because so much of what remained from Kristoff was tied up in thoughts and longings for her. And his desire to see her comforted went beyond a simple need to see justice done for her, to see her given vengeance for the untimely death of her husband. Without meaning to, he had wronged her, and as important as it was to fulfil his duties, it was just as important to see her happy. 

He had memories of her, laughing and smiling and affectionate. They weren’t his memories, but they made him feel good regardless, in the same way that Elissa could comfort him and make him feel at ease. He wanted to give that back to Aura.

Elissa, for once, was silent and grim as they walked, no ready smile or quick wit to defuse the tension. Her jaw was tight, her eyes dark, but she nodded encouragingly at him when he glanced to her for support. That was something, at least.

The Chantry was relatively empty this early in the morning, and their feet echoed hollowly in the vast hall. The crunch of their armour was out of place in the sanctum; the few parishioners and Sisters who were about seemed to fade into the background as they walked along the central aisle. Aura only seemed to notice them at the last moment, her shoulders going stiff and her hands clenching at her sides. She glanced backwards over her shoulder, eyes widening as she recognised who it was precisely that approached her. 

Her face was flushed and patchy with colour, cheeks damp from recent tears. She climbed to her feet too quickly, and for a moment she swayed, as if she were about to lose her balance. Elissa stepped forward before he could, her instincts and her body responding faster than his ever would, and she had one hand beneath the grieving woman’s elbow and another on her back, steadying her and helping her find her feet. She murmured something beyond his hearing, and Aura stared at her, lip quivering as if she were fighting not to cry again. 

“Commander,” she said hoarsely, wiping awkwardly at her face with the back of her sleeve. “And… _you_. In Kristoff’s… in my husband’s body.” 

Justice was much better at reading people now, thanks to the lessons Elissa had given him; even without that knowledge, it was easy for him to see that Aura was in immense pain. It was perhaps the most dreadful feeling he had ever encountered, knowing that for once the unjust pain of another was his own doing. It did not matter that Kristoff’s death was not by his hand, it only mattered that his presence caused her offence- and that made him feel wretched. 

“Aura,” he said, and then faltered, the carefully prepared speech dying on his lips in the face of her pain. He hesitated before trying again. “I wish to explain- I am a spirit of justice, and I was in no way responsible for your husband’s-” He cut off abruptly at the pointed glare Elissa gave him, and fumbled about for more appropriate wording. “I mean you no harm, and I do not wish to cause you distress.”

Aura glanced from him to Elissa, who nodded encouragingly at her, just as she had for him a few minutes earlier. Her lips were thin, though, and her face was drained of colour; she looked distinctly unhappy with the situation. Aura took a deep breath as she looked back to him.

“I-I…” She bit her lip and broke from his gaze, eyes filling with tears. “I knew there was a risk, that there was always the possibility that he might not come home. His father…” She stumbled again, throat working as she tried to find the words. Elissa was still at her side, face still grim. “His father was a Warden too, and I always…”

She fell into silence, and he had never felt despicable until that moment. He only knew that she was grieving, and his presence made it _worse_ , and that made him just as bad as the fiends that had killed Kristoff in the first place. He didn’t know how to fix it, and Elissa was frustratingly silent for once. 

He felt lost.

“If you would only tell me what I might do to assuage your pain,” he began, “anything at all-”

“Avenge him,” Aura said quickly, the pain in her eyes morphing into wildfire that nearly made him step backwards. She was in his space a moment later, consumed by an angry passion that lit her up from within. “Avenge him, spirit. Bring death and destruction to those who did this to him. Bring me the peace of knowing that he has been given justice in death. At least give me that- I can wait a little longer for his ashes if I know there has been retribution.”

That at least was straightforward; this was something he could understand. “I have pledged my services to the Commander,” he said, and Elissa grimaced slightly in response, “and will not rest until I have purged this land of the filth of the darkspawn. Your husband will be avenged, I swear it.”

Her shoulders seemed to slump in response, as if exacting that response had taken the fire from her. “Good, then,” she whispered, stepping closer still. This change in her mood he had not expected, and he froze as she lifted her hand towards him.

She touched one hand hesitantly to his cheek, fingers brushing over skin long resistant to the sensations that memory said he should have felt. There was a slight pressure, just enough to signify that her hand was there at all, but nothing else. He remembered- or rather drew upon memories that did not belong to him- the way that her fingers used to feel on his skin, the patterns she would trace and the smile she would wear as she did it. He remembered the shiver that passed through him- not him, he corrected, but the body he wore remembered it so well that it might as well have been his memory, rather than the property of a dead man. 

Her lip trembled as she leant in closer. “I could almost believe…” With some difficulty she took another breath, her eyes filling again with fresh tears. “You must tell me, spirit, please- is there anything left of my Kristoff?”

The intensity of her gaze was staggering, and he almost imagined that she was looking at him, rather than at her dead husband. How would it feel to be the true recipient of such longing and passion? If this was truly the feeling that demons craved, he was beginning to understand how they could fall prey to their appetites. “Your husband is gone,” he said softly, watching her face as he spoke. He saw the moment that hope died, when the precious spark of faith within her was completely extinguished. “But he loved you more than you could imagine.”

A soft sob broke from her, and she swayed closer again; her eyes were clenched tightly shut, and tears glistened on the lashes. The hand on his face was firm as she traced over his cheek, following the line of the bone- now far more exposed than it had been in life- and then drifted down to his mouth. Her fingers came to rest there, pressed over his lips, and she leaned in so close that her forehead was resting against her hand. “I could almost believe,” she whispered again, and stopped there.

After a moment’s silence, feeling her breath against his neck, he said the only thing he could that made sense. “The darkspawn will pay,” he said, and it meant _I’m sorry_ and _I would not have chosen this, had I the chance to redo things_ and _I can never atone for this_ and _I would give him back to you if I could_ but he didn’t know how to say those. 

He didn’t know what her grief meant to him, or why he needed to fix it.

She pulled away eventually, slowly and wearily, pausing only to brush her lips over his deadened cheek. It hardly merited as a kiss at all, but the significance of it did not escape him. She didn’t say a word, to himself or to the Commander, and her footsteps seemed to echo back to him in the silence as she walked all the way to the door and let herself out. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding- a breath he didn’t even need to hold, but a habit his body still knew and which he still fell into when the situation seemed appropriate. “And she is gone,” he said quietly, aware of Elissa stepping in beside him again. 

She hesitated as well. “Are you okay?” she murmured finally, her hand brushing gently against his. 

“I…” He frowned off into the distance. “I do not know if I did the right thing. I do not know what I feel.”

She laughed softly, tension bleeding from her slowly now that Aura was gone. “You were not made to feel, my friend, so I think that’s understandable to find it confusing.” She sighed, sliding her fingers between his. “Do you… need some time? To think, or to-”

“I need to fix this,” he said, with a little more surety than a moment ago. “I did not cause this, but it is within my power to see justice served, and that is most important.”

“It’s alright to _feel_ , Justice,” she said, standing in front of him and trying to catch his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with taking the time to understand what this means to you.”

He frowned at her. “Action is more important than words at this point, Commander,” he said firmly, “and feelings are the domain of demons-”

“Uh uh,” she corrected quickly, waving her finger sternly in front of his eyes. “Feelings are just feelings, and it’s our _actions_ that define us, our decision to act or not act upon those feelings. Remember?”

There was a spark in her eyes, challenge and humour in one, and he did not realise until that moment how greatly it had affected him for her to be so grim. Without that glimmer of merriment, the hope and the mischief and the determination that was wholly Elissa, it had been easy to lose his footing in the face of Aura’s grief. How had he come to rely so heavily on one mortal, and how had that one mortal come to be his moral and emotional compass? Had he lost so much of himself by leaving the Fade that he needed another to balance him, and help him to find the right pathway?

“I remember,” he said slowly, “and I thank you, Commander. I could not have done it without you.”

She smiled wryly. “One day you’ll call me Elissa,” she said, adopting a forlorn expression. 

“Perhaps,” he said, lips lifting in a smile. And perhaps it was not a bad thing, to rely on one person for guidance. After all, Aura and Kristoff had turned to one another, their connection based on mutual respect and trust as well as love. Perhaps it was not so bad that Elissa had been the one to guide him from the Blackmarsh all those weeks ago. 

On a whim, he leant forward and touched his lips to her cheek, just as Aura had done to him mere minutes ago. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her skin was warm- a pointed contrast to the chill that imbued the flesh that housed him. He did not linger, pulling back just as quickly as he had leant forward.

Her eyes were huge, and her hand went to her cheek where he had kissed her. Her fingers were shaking slightly. “Why did you do that?” she whispered. 

He stepped back to a more appropriate distance. “Because it seemed fitting,” he said, only just avoiding shrugging as he had seen Anders do instead of answering questions. “I hope I’ve not misjudged- that is an acceptable way of saying thank you, correct?”

“No no, that’s…” She seemed almost dazed, and he frowned. “That’s fine,” she finished weakly, hand still on her cheek. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Well, then- I apologise.” He waited a few moments, but she only stared; nothing to either accept or reject his apology. “Commander? Perhaps we should be on our way.”

“Elissa,” she corrected, almost before he’d finished speaking. 

He paused, considering. He poured over the memories that still lingered, of Kristoff and Aura, and the trust and respect and friendship that was integral to their relationship. Finally he nodded.

“Elissa,” he said, inordinately pleased at the way her eyes lit up at the single word, “perhaps we should be on our way?”


	12. L is for Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyrium [noun]: a valuable but dangerous mineral-like lifeform. Physical contact with raw lyrium ore will cause serious injury and/or psychological damage to most mortal creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for hand injury

He could hear it long before she gave it to him, although he didn’t quite realise what it was that he could hear. The song was strong and sweet, but soft and distant- hidden under layers of her clothing, and she flushed red whenever he stared in her direction, awkward in a way that she rarely was. It was as if there were choirs in his head, like the handful of singers in the Amaranthine Chantry when he had met with Aura, except… _more_. More powerful, more entrancing, more haunting, more _everything_. It was like listening to the act of creation itself. It made him feel _alive_. There was power and magic and temptation in the song, and for a time he thought that it was coming from Elissa herself as he stared at her across the main hall of the Keep. 

She drew it out, glancing his way often as she went about her duties, her gaze skittering away wildly when she realised he was still staring. There was something nervous in her movements, the surety he was used to seeing gone. He frowned as he watched her, perplexed by the song that danced around her but enthralled by it in equal measure. The mesmerising sound had been distracting him ever since she’d returned to the Keep earlier that morning, a siren’s lure that he could not block out.

It became a game, of sorts. He would resist it for as long as possible, eyes fixed on her as if she would give him some sort of clue; when he could stand it no longer, he made his way towards her, drawn by the song. The colour would rise in her cheeks and she would find some reason to be on the far side of the room to him, a conversation that simply could not wait, a supplies manifest that had to be seen to this instant. He had never seen her take such an interest in the day to day maintenance of the Keep. She liked to avoid her duties, where possible, so this sudden fascination intrigued him. Not as greatly as the song, but it was a part of the mystery.

She retreated and he advanced, a complicated dance that he didn’t even pretend to understand. Her avoidance was so unfamiliar to him. Elissa drew it out for some time; he crept ever closer throughout the afternoon, and when he finally ran down his patience and stepped up behind her the song was so loud that for a moment he closed his eyes and just absorbed it.

It was _magnificent_. Power and fire and music and life, brilliant and drugging; he’d never heard anything-

“Kal’Hirol,” Elissa said, smiling briefly as she turned to face him. Behind her, Mistress Woolsey raised an eyebrow as she took the stack of papers the two had been working on and absented herself. Both women’s expressions seemed odd, somewhat insincere, but reading expressions still didn’t come easily to him. “You’ve heard it before in Kal’Hirol.”

He paused for only a moment, processing her words. “You have lyrium?” he asked, his surprise momentarily overruling his delight. He had not expected this, not really, and there was something else- “The song is different.” 

The lyrium in the vials that the mages imbibed was weak, watered down; he scarcely heard more than a ringing hum, and only then when he was standing nearby when the cork seals were removed. It just sort of teased at his senses, just a hint of sound, a vibration in the air that drew his attention. The lyrium in Kal’Hirol had been an onslaught, wondrous beauty that it was, but it had roared, like every voice in creation singing at once, wild and desperately joyful and happy. 

“Anders said that the lyrium was dangerous,” he said, concern eating at his unmitigated delight. “You went back to that pit of darkspawn and evil, to retrieve something which could damage you irrevoc-”

“Sigrun knew the way, and we cleared out Kal’Hirol a week ago, so it’s fine,” she said, somewhat irritably. Her smile lessened the sting of her tone though. “We had to go back for a few things, so it’s not like this was a burden at all.”

“But you carried the lyrium for much longer than you needed to. I have heard it singing for hours now.”

Something lightened in her eyes, and he felt himself relax at the sight of it. Her tension and avoidance had affected him more than he would like to admit. “You can hear it?” she said, a smile creeping across her face. “But it’s so tiny!”

“It?”

Her hand had slipped into her breast pocket at some point during their conversation, and her fingers emerged tightly clasped around something. The song soared, and he stared in fascination, even as she grinned mysteriously. “Hold out your hand,” she said, waiting for him to obey. Her hand came to rest in his, small against the span of Kristoff’s hand, her fingers warm against the pervasive chill in his dead flesh. She drew the moment out for the longest time, until finally she opened her fingers and placed a tiny leather satchel in the palm of his outstretched hand and withdrew.

“You’ll have to open it,” she said softly. “I can’t touch it without it hurting me.”

The way she moved her left hand out of sight, hiding it behind the curve of her hip, should have been of more concern- had this tiny object hurt her? Had she been injured in pursuit of something for him?- but the song flooded him now, pure and sweet and rapturous. It thrummed through him, each pulse of the rhythm a new wave of something joyous and refreshing. 

With fumbling, awkward fingers- death never added to one’s agility, he had found, and no one would ever accuse him of having nimble fingers- he managed to loosen the tie on the bag and upended it into his other hand. There was a clear ringing note, the most perfect sound he had ever heard, and a ring tumbled out. 

For a moment he could only stare, lost in the symphony that soared outwards and upwards, the sound of beautiful eternity made solid in the shape of this frail ring.

It could have been seconds later, or it could have been years later, but Elissa’s hand was on his arm, and her voice came to him as if from a distance. “Justice?” she called, and he looked up finally to see her frowning. “You were swaying,” she clarified, her other hand coming up as if to touch his face and then falling back to her side. She pressed her palm into her hip, hiding it again. “Are you alright? I didn’t expect it to affect you like this.”

“It is just…” How did mortals find words to describe the well of beauty he felt within him? There did not seem to be adequate language for what was consuming him. “Magnificent,” he finished softly. And then he smiled, and her expression brightened in turn. “I do not have the capacity to describe what this means to me. Thank you, Commander.”

“You can call me Elissa, you know,” she said, her smile changing her entire demeanour. She shone as brightly as the tiny band of metal in his palm. “We’re friends- friends can call each other by their names.” 

Her words only half registered, entranced as he was by the ring. “I would dearly love to show this to the other spirits in the Fade,” he said, running his fingers slowly over the curve of the metal. It hummed in a pleasing manner, in the same way that Anders’ feline companion purred when stroked, and he repeated the motion to hear the wobble in the song anew. There was nothing in his experience in the Fade, nothing at all, that compared to this moment, this object. What a glorious thing it was, this mortal world. 

The silence that came from her was telling, and he glanced up, tearing his eyes from the ring.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said, her expression for once easy to read in her confusion. There was hurt there as well, pain that she quickly masked, and he had no idea how it had manifested. “I didn’t know that spirits were friends with each other. I thought you all sort of… did your own thing, I guess. What spirits were you friends with? I knew a spirit of faith once, any chance you knew her… err, it? Him?”

He shook his head, glancing back to the ring as he turned it over in his fingers, end over end. The song changed depending on how he held it, and it delighted him no end to play and experiment and see what notes he could draw from it. “I do not know what names they go by,” he said, “and I was more likely to encounter demons than spirits. For the most part we kept to ourselves.”

Another look came over her face, another one he recognised- _pitying_. He was surprised to see it, and even more surprised that he knew in an instant how carefully he paid attention to her moods. He doubted he would have recognised pity on the face of one of the others from just the look in their eyes. “Justice, you don’t have anyone in the Fade to show,” she said softly. 

He frowned, distracted by the song. “What?”

“You told me yourself, it was one of the first things we talked about after you came here.” She was shaking her head, sorrow etched deep in her eyes. “You told me that you had no need for companionship there. Why do you… who do you even have to show, if you were able to?”

Her question stunned him. It was nothing but truth, horrible wrenching truth. 

This world had changed him… in the simplest way.

They had taught him to desire _companionship_.

So small a thing, something he would never have missed in the Fade. Something he had never known, never desired, never even considered in any form… friendship, and companionship, such a simple thing but so very separate from his nature. Justice did not require company. Or friends. Justice needed only righteousness, and victory, and to see wrongs righted. But now, after only a few short weeks in this world, he… wanted. Desired.

He wanted someone to share in the joy this simple ring gave to him. 

Elissa was still looking at him, pity and sorrow in her expression, and he needed more from her than that. He needed something else.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, holding the ring out between them.

She huffed softly, clearly well aware that he’d ignored her questions. “Justice, I didn’t mean to… it’s a gorgeous ring but you know I can’t-”

“The song is beautiful, is it not?” he continued, speaking over the top of her. 

The silence was weighted, and he stared at her until she relented. There was something hard in her eyes when she finally spoke. “You know I can’t hear it,” she said firmly, each word heavy with scorn.

He could not think of a time when he had earned her scorn before. It should have been a warning for him to stop. 

“You must hear it. It is so loud. And you yourself are no ordinary mortal, you’ve done far more than any non-mage has ever done.” He held the ring out, thrusting it before her face. The song rang out between them. “You must hear it sing. _Surely_.”

There was caution and sadness and anger in equal measure in her eyes as she put her hand over his wrist and gently pushed his hand away. “Justice, I _can’t_. You know that pure lyrium is poisonous to mortals. I can’t go near it.”

“Then why did you carry it for days?” He was raising his voice, and he wasn’t even sure why he was angry at her; was it that she had endangered herself for him, for a gift that carried more weight than she intended it to? “Why risk yourself if you don’t-” 

“ _Just say thank you!_ ” she said, louder than she needed to, almost shouting, _desperate_. Her words drew a few eyes their way, but he did not care for the attention of others. The other mortals didn’t matter. Elissa did. “Just take the stupid ring and _say thank you!_ ”

Her words rang out in the silence of the main hall, and someone coughed uncomfortably when it stretched on for too long. The ring hummed in his hand, the merry melody continuing unabated despite the tension.

Elissa blinked, her expression furious. Then blinked again. Her eyelashes fluttered frantically, and only when her hand went up to her cheek did he realise she was crying… and that the hand dashing away tears was marred by an ugly scar, one of her fingers crooked and bent as if the skin had melted and reset at a bad angle. 

Without a word, she sketched a shallow bow in his direction and stormed out, shoving her shoulder into Nathaniel as he entered through the same door she was leaving through. The archer staggered backwards a step, opening his mouth to snap at her and clearly thinking better of it when he saw her expression. Sighting Justice standing with his hand still outstretched, he wandered over.

“What was all that about?” he asked, rubbing at his aggrieved shoulder.

“The Commander gave me a gift,” he said, somewhat flatly, watching the door to see if she would return. Common sense suggested she would not.

Nathaniel whistled softly. “A ring? Well that’s just dripping with symbolism, isn’t it.”

He glanced downwards, to the ring in his hand. “Is it?” 

The song was not quite so sweet now. He wasn’t sure what Howe was talking about, but the only symbolism he could see was the undeniable truth that his time here in the mortal world had changed him… and that one mortal and her opinion of him meant more than it should. 

He pocketed the ring, nodded stiffly to Howe, and made his way up to the battlements. She had sought to make him a friend, and instead had forced both of them to realise just how very different he now was. 

The song hummed, and he tuned it out.


	13. M is for Mages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mage [noun]: a person who has extraordinary skill, influence or qualities; a user of magic who is able to question reality, render it mutable and reshape it to their desires

He was not alone when he reached his place on the battlements, a fact by which he was most put out. And that in itself was irksome, because being annoyed about small things was something new to him, something he would have considered petty and unnecessary not all that long ago. And this in particular was not the sort of thing he was accustomed to being vexed about- if something was to vex him, it would be the sight of widows crouching for shelter against the castle walls, or the bruises on the serving wench in the tavern on the road to Amaranthine, or the hypocrisy of the Chantry. But he was _quite certain_ that the small section of wall by the west tower was most _definitely_ his section of wall, or more specifically _their_ section of wall, for it was where Elissa was most likely to join him when she was able, so for someone else to be there was completely exasperating.

And it seemed odd, because several weeks ago he would have thought nothing about sharing the space with Anders, or with anyone for that matter, because back then he’d had no need for solitude, no idea that a place could come to have significance for him. He hadn’t needed a place of his own to retreat to, to process the world and the confusing things that went on in it. He’d been given a room of his own, and he’d used it out of convenience rather than need, but that was entirely different.

Right now he most certainly needed such solitude, and yet the mage was slumped against the wall with no regard for the fact that the space belonged to Justice.

More importantly, if Elissa were to come looking for him, he did not wish for Anders to be lingering. Clearly Elissa had been upset at his response to the lyrium ring, although he wasn’t quite sure why. It would be best if he was alone when she inevitably came to find him. She could explain what was wrong, in the privacy that this stretch of stone afforded them, and they could move on. 

The mage had to go.

He came to a stop at Anders’ feet, long legs stretched out before him; the mage was holding his hands palm up, letting little sparks of light dance in the air above them. On closer inspection, he could see that the sparks had taken the shape of butterflies, in a myriad of brilliant and impossible colours.

Intrigued despite his better judgement, he said “What are you doing?”

Anders snorted and smiled, but the warmth did not quite reach his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m blatantly casting magic in public, in a purely selfish manner for it benefits no one for me to sit on the roof and make sparkly butterflies, except to placate my own sense of whimsy.”

Justice frowned at him. “Your selfishness does you no merit. You should be using your magic for the betterment of all, not to indulge yourself.” He paused for a moment. “And you should leave. If Elissa is to seek me out, I do not wish for her to encounter you as well.”

Anders snorted, with a little more humour this time. “Maker, you aren’t half subtle, are you?” he said, instead sending the butterflies swirling higher into the air. “Berate me in one breath and then tell me to piss off so you can woo your paramour in the next? For what it’s worth, no I’m not planning on stopping, and no I’m not planning on leaving. I was here first, and I’m comfy, and if my little diversion offends you that much you can do this the easy way and just leave.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Justice said, frustrated more than he cared to be. “This has always been the place we have come to. She would not know to seek me elsewhere.”

“I suspect you’re underestimating the resolve of a pissed off woman, my friend,” Anders said, changing the angle of his hand. The butterflies all swarmed higher and began to dance around Justice’s head and shoulders; he batted at them in annoyance, but it did nothing. They were creatures of magic and will, after all- there were as he was. “If she wants to find you, you’re bloody well going to be found no matter where you are.”

Justice shifted irritably from one foot to the other. “Nonetheless, I require solitude.”

Without batting an eyelid, Anders said “You could always go to your room. You know, the _private_ chambers you have? Can’t think of anything more secluded than that.”

The mage was determined to thwart him. “You must stop this waste of magic,” he said, swatting hopelessly at the winged apparitions. “It is distasteful that you would squander your powers so effortlessly, when others might benefit from their use.” 

At this, Anders finally sighed, and his hands dropped down into his lap. The butterflies did not dissipate though, instead settling in his hair and continuing to flit about as if they were real insects. “Is there a particular reason for this lecture, or am I just lucky?”

“You are so flippant in your attitudes. You could be doing so much good, for others and for your fellow mages.”

“Justice, I’ve _done_ good for others and it’s never turned out in my favour.”

The frustration was evident in his tone, and Justice thought it was best to press his advantage. “And that is a reason to desist? I hardly think that is in keeping with your character. You are a man who fought against his imprisonment so consistently and so effectively that your captors sought your death-”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s always such a pleasant memory and all.”

Justice ignored the interruption. “If you turned that determination and anger back against them, to aid your fellows, think of what you could achieve! Instead of indulging yourself, you could be returning children to their mothers! Instead of flaunting your magic, you could-”

“I am flaunting my magic because this is the first time in my life where I can sit in the sun and simply enjoy being a mage without wondering if someone is going to come lurching over my shoulder.” His voice was bitter, laced with years upon years of hate and anguish and hopelessness. “But, oh look, you did just that. Thanks.”

The butterflies crumpled to a fine dust, caught up by the wind in seconds and gone between one blink and the next. Anders dusted his hands off and levered himself to his feet. “If that’ll be all for today?”

Justice felt unpleasant, awkward and heavy and pained in a way that made him feel warm- an odd sensation. Elissa had a word for this assault on his senses- she had called it guilt. It was a disagreeable thing, and he despised the way in which it cleaved to him like tar. “Anders,” he said, “I do not mean to cause offense.”

“You never do, Justice,” Anders muttered as he pushed past, “you never do.”

Justice watched him walk towards the door; it should have been somewhat of a relief, to have his space back in his possession again, solitude at his command. But it felt wrong to leave things on such a sour note. “You have the opportunity to change things, Anders,” he called, “and I do not think you realise what you are capable of.”

“The world is not as black and white as you’d like it to be, Justice,” Anders called back bitterly. “Children still get taken from their parents, young men and women still get thrown to demons, and people will take my help with one hand while reaching for their sword with the other. It’s just the way things are.”

“Things need not be that way,” Justice said. His friend openly flinched, and looked away, but he pressed on. “You are free. You have the autonomy of the Wardens at your disposal. You have the power to change things.”

Anders sighed and tipped his head back, eyes closed tight as if he were in pain. “I am alive and free, Justice. That in itself is a miracle. Any more than that, I just…”

Silence crept up between them, weighty and uncomfortable, and Justice didn’t really know what to say that could ease the tension. Anders was the one to break it, casting a glance back over his shoulder. “I am not a hero, Justice.”

“You are not required to be,” he said solemnly. 

They stared at one another for a few long moments, before a frustrated scowl came over Anders’ face and he stomped back into the Keep. He slammed the door heavily behind him as he went, and the pigeons perched atop the west tower went flailing into the air in a storm of feathers and indignant cooing. They settled back down a few moments later, when they realised the danger had passed. 

Alone at last, which was what he had wanted from the very first moment, Justice wandered back to the section of wall that he preferred and took his place, settling back against the sun warmed stone and waiting for peace to fall over him. He sat in the silence to contemplate the afternoon’s events, realising that in the confusion of the various discussions he had completely forgotten about the ring that Elissa had gifted to him.

The song was there, bright and sharp with longing, and it should have soothed him. 

It did not. Not as he would have liked. Instead, he was trapped in the mortal realm with companions that he confused and infuriated even as they bewildered and enraged him. He would have called them friends, but he was not sure that he had earned the same title in return. He hardly even understood it most of the time. His attempts at friendship apparently left Elissa in pain and Anders resenting him. 

For lack of anything better to do, he spent the rest of the afternoon on the battlements, watching the sun sink slowly towards the horizon. 

And Elissa did not come to the wall.


	14. N is for Nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobility [noun]: noble birth or rank; nobleness of mind, character or spirit; exalted moral excellence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for alcoholism and depression

There was a commotion when he went back inside, a flurry of movement that told him something was amiss. He was expecting most of the Keep’s inhabitants to be making their way to bed at this hour, but when he entered the great hall, thinking to warm himself by the fire for a time, he found most of the Wardens gathered with an air of urgency about them. Varel and Woolsey were speaking fiercely with Nathaniel towards the front of the hall, the archer clearly frustrated, and Garavel stood by the ancient doors directing a handful of soldiers out into the darkening night. Justice stood and observed for a moment, watching the activity in bemusement as Sigrun and Velanna came in from the dark, Sigrun stomping her feet vigorously on the reed mats as if she expected to find herself covered in mud.

Hardly a surprising assumption on her part; this was, he had deduced from the comments of the mortals, the muddiest place in all of Thedas.

He watched as the two women made their way over to Nathaniel and the others, and the conversation turned to whatever news they had to bring- negative, it seemed, from the way they shook their heads and Woolsey’s cheeks grew pinched with displeasure. Nathaniel had almost resorted to pacing, the wild energy around him evident even to Justice himself. Curious as to what could have the whole of the Keep in such an uproar, he made his way over to the group in time to hear the end of whatever Sigrun was saying

"... weird mood ever since we left Kal'Hirol," she said with a shrug. "I figured it had something to do with that nasty burn she got from the ring."

"You shouldn't have even let her go near it, let alone touch it," Woolsey barked, and Sigrun rolled her eyes quite openly at her. “You had no business going back to that place at all.”

“That is hardly the matter for debate, Mistress,” Varel said gravely. “Whether or not they should have gone is irrelevant now, the issue at hand is finding the Commander.”

Those words piqued Justice’s interest. Finding the Commander? She was missing?

“She got a letter from her brother this afternoon,” Nathaniel said. “I recognised the seal of Highever. Maybe she left urgently-”

“The letter is still on her desk, and makes no mention of any kind of situation requiring her presence urgently,” Varel countered, his voice strained. Justice felt a surge of fury, that they would rifle through her private correspondence as if her privacy were of no concern to them, but Velanna spoke before he could make his displeasure known.

“For all we know she’s off fooling around with a stable hand,” she said coldly. “And I for one will not traipse around in the dark any longer looking for that fool Shem-”

“You will not speak about your Commander that way,” Woolsey snapped, her tone just as frosty as Velanna’s. “She is your superior and a lady. Have some _respect_.”

Velanna’s answer was a scornful snort, and she turned her back without another word. Woolsey looked as if she were about to interject and drag her back, but Varel put a hand on her arm and shook his head. Nathaniel made his displeasure known as well, shaking his head as he made a noise of disgust, scuffing his boots against the stone as if he hoped to uncover the answer to Elissa’s disappearance in the dust.

Justice took advantage of the silence. “The Commander is missing?”

Varel sighed tiredly, and Sigrun and Nathaniel exchanged a significant glance. “She is indeed unable to be found at the moment,” Varel said. “She left no word that she was going anywhere-”

“She could very well have been taken!” Woolsey snapped, crossing her arms firmly; Justice noticed her hands shaking before she tucked them out of sight. “All these ridiculous noble plots, she should have been more forceful in putting them down.”

“What’s passed is passed,” Varel said, his voice a little louder as if he anticipated another argument with the woman. “She cannot remake her decisions, and we can only deal with the situation at hand, not seek to appoint blame for what may have brought it about. Elissa is missing- let us find her first, then point fingers afterwards.”

“Standing around bickering isn’t going to help,” Sigrun said in a singsong voice.

Elissa was missing, and they thought to stand about and argue the reasons for it? Fools, the lot of them; he had heard enough to make his own plan of action. 

Turning his back on the mortals and their petty squabbles, he made his way instead to the hallway, and then to the stairs that led to the living quarters on the higher floors. His footsteps echoed rather loudly in the hallways- he told himself it was simply the late hour that made them seem louder, and not at all the fact that he was angrily stomping. As he approached Elissa’s door, he heard a light scuffling behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Sigrun scampering up the hall towards him.

“You stormed off as if all the spawn from the depths were on your tail,” she said cheerfully, falling in beside him once she had caught up. “Have to admit, you always surprise me when you move quickly. I always half expect you to shamble about, sort of lurching from one place to the next like some obscene puppet.”

“That would wear impractically on the body I inhabit,” he said with a scowl. “It makes much more sense to mimic the motion the muscular and skeletal structure are most used to-”

“Ancestors, spare me the logic lecture,” she said, reaching Elissa’s door a fraction of a second before he did. She jiggled the handle and, finding it locked, pulled a pin from her hair and slipped it into the mechanism. “And before you say anything else about my pilfering ways, yes I have a lock pick, and yes we need it to-”

“I have no objections on this occasion,” he said, feeling a small sense of satisfaction at having been able to interrupt her in turn. It felt like a balance. “If you did not open the door by such means, I would have used force.”

“Just what every girl wants,” Sigrun muttered under her breath as she pushed her way into the room, “a dead guy breaking down her door.”

Elissa’s room was as always, with no signs of struggle or forced entry. It was messy, true, but that was her way. Sigrun wandered over to the desk and flicked idly through the papers, while Justice came to a stop in the centre of the room. When the dwarf reached for a letter with a broken wax seal, he barked out “ _Do not touch that!_ ”

Her hand froze midway, and she looked back over her shoulder at him with a put out expression. “Well you’re no fun.”

“Do you not _care_ that your Commander and friend has vanished?” he snapped, and at the anger in his tone a flicker of fear appeared in her eyes. “If nothing else have a care for her privacy and do not touch her correspondence. To invade her affairs in such a way is deplorable!”

Holding her hands out in plain sight, as if to show she was most definitely not stealing anything, she backed slowly away from the desk. “Easy there, big guy,” she said. “I’m as keen to find her as you are-”

“I find that questionable, given your attitude,” he said angrily. She looked as if his words caused her offense, but he didn’t give her time to interject. “Now if you intend to stay, remain precisely where you are _and do not touch anything._ ”

Thankfully, she did not fight his commands, standing in the centre of the rug with her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he examined the room. He had been in here many times, so many times that it actually took him by surprise to think back on it. Had he really sought Elissa out so often?

He walked slowly around the room, examining every shelf, every surface, even wandering into her sleeping quarters for further clues. His senses were muted in death- he had but a parody of what Kristoff himself would have experienced in a living, breathing body, but enough life still remained that he could recognise the scent of her, this strange and peculiar mortal woman who seemed to occupy his thoughts more and more. 

And it was strange that he knew the scent of her. He did not think he had been observant enough with any of the Wardens, to know their smell. 

He made his way back into the main room, where Sigrun seemed to be bursting from curiosity. “Well?” she asked, practically hopping from one foot to the other. “You’ve got that look about you- you know something, you sly spirit.”

Justice nodded calmly. “There is a cushion missing from her bed, and a decanter gone from the third shelf above her desk. There is a bloodied bandage stuffed into the top drawer of her desk, and numerous papers on her desk all demanding her attention- the king, the queen, Weisshaupt, her brother, and numerous folk from around the Arling.”

Sigrun nodded. “And? Where is she?”

Justice pointed towards the window. “There is a smear of blood on the latch,” he said, and it was half true. The scent of her was stronger by the window, or at least fresher. Not that he would say that aloud. “It is my opinion that she made her way out of the Keep via her window, in the hope that she would go unobserved.”

Sigrun was already moving, and she had the window thrown open within moments. She leaned out over the void, staring down towards the ground several stories below. “But where is she now?” she asked. “I mean, it’s a good thing that I don’t see a Commander shaped splatter on the ground down there, but did she actually try to climb down? Where could she possibly have gone?”

“I would have thought that you would be tired of looking down,” he replied, feeling a brief moment of smugness as he came to stand behind her. “Since leaving the Deep Roads you have spent a great deal of time staring at the sky.”

She cast a look back over her shoulder at him, somewhat disgusted. “You are a smug git, you know that?” She sighed and instead leaned backwards out the window, looking up towards the eaves and the roof. “If she did it, she’s much more athletic than I would have given her credit for. That’s not an easy climb, especially if she was carrying all the nonsense you said she was carrying.” She paused. “And sometime you’re going to have to explain to me how you know how many pillows she keeps on her damned bed, because that’s sort of creepy.”

“I have no need to explain myself to you at all,” he said calmly. “And you have no need to risk yourself on the climb-”

“Who said I was going to anyway?”

“-because I will retrieve her from the roof.” He was certain now, that that was where she had gone to. It made sense, in the strange way that he understood her. It was not in her nature to run, but she needed to escape in pieces; he understood that. It was the same way that he returned to the battlements day after day- he had no desire to leave, but the confines of the Keep were too much for him some times. And she always came to him, in the end, except for today of course.

So it made sense that it was his turn to fetch her. 

Sigrun looked at him incredulously. “You are dead. You are a _dead body_. You _do not_ possess the same motor skills that the rest of us do, or the same mobility. You _cannot_ expect me to believe you think you can make that climb.”

“I do not require you to believe in me,” he said. “My ability will not be changed by your faith, or lack thereof. I only require you to move.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her doubt written across her face, before she sighed and stepped to the side. “Anders is right, you are terrifying when you want to be. And weird.”

“Perhaps you should join him, since you share such warm sentiments,” Justice said as he leant out of the window to inspect the reach towards the roof. It was not as bad as she had implied- her smaller stature had clearly made it seem more daunting than it actually was. Granted, it would not be easy, but he had much less to lose than any of the mortals- it was unlikely a simple fall would kill him. 

It might not make his borrowed body usable, but that was a bridge to cross when it was reached. 

“I’m telling Varel,” she called in that singsong voice of hers, and he heard the door close as she indeed made her way off to tattle and gossip. He did not want the interference of the others in this matter. 

Bracing himself against the frame, he reached for the overhanging eaves, leaning dangerously out over the void. He felt the night air brushing against him, and he ignored it. It took him a moment to find a good grip, but once he did he turned, climbing up onto the sill and facing back into the room as he reached confidently overhead with the other hand. He took a moment to find his balance- it felt odd, with the cool of the night against his back, knowing there was nothing between him and the ground far below- and when he was certain that he could make the move, he pushed off against the sill and lunged upwards. 

He scrabbled awkwardly for a moment, his legs hanging out over the edge, but in the end it was not as difficult as Sigrun had assumed it to be. His reach was far superior to hers, and once he had the added height of the window sill, it was only a matter of manoeuvring himself adequately so as not to tumble towards an uncertain fate. It was a strain, though- he could not fool himself to think that it did not make his dead and decaying muscles scream in protest, or his bones ache from the stress. 

He lay for a moment, gazing up at the stars as he waited for the aches to subside in his crumbling body. He wondered, and not for the first time, what it would be like if the pain was his own, and not something he experienced as if through fogged glass. It was there, and he could sense the shape of it, the colour and size and jagged edges of it, but it was all muted. If it was his to feel, what would that be like? What would any of it be like, to taste and smell and feel all of it in the glorious chaotic state it was intended?

Elissa’s scent was stronger here, and he wondered what it would be like to be in her presence if he had a body of his own. 

She was nearby, that was the important part. His assumption had been correct, and the Keep had been worrying needlessly. If only someone had sought him out to begin with, they might have found Elissa hours ago. 

Levering himself to his feet, he turned slowly, careful to keep his balance on the slanted tiles. Sure enough, it was not so dark that he couldn’t make out the lumpy shadow slumped on the roof several yards away. It was not moving, but he knew well enough what it was.

“Elissa,” he called, taking a step towards her. 

There was a moan, tapering off towards a sob. “ _Fuck off,_ ” she snarled, her voice heavily slurred. He stepped closer, close enough to make out the details of the scene. She was lying across the roof, the pillow tucked beneath her head and the decanter lying empty between them. She was curled up, her legs tucked up towards her stomach. And she was quite clearly drunk, and had evidently been crying. 

“A rather pointless profanity,” he replied. “It would be best if you reserved it for use against someone capable of such an act.”

There was a choked sort of laugh. “You fuckin’ smart ass, you know what I mean! Just leave me alone.” 

He took a step closer. “I have no intention of doing so,” he said. “In fact, I have come to fetch you. You have been absent for far too long, and your disappearance has been met with a great deal of alarm.”

She laughed again, bitter and angry. “Of course, can’t have the bloody Hero vanishing. Who would everyone fawn over and idolize an’ expect to fix aaaaaall their problems as if it were a tea party with not enough chairs.”

Justice hesitated, brow furrowing as he pondered those last few words from her. A tea party… and not enough chairs? Perhaps sometimes he overestimated her, and she was as mad as some of the other Wardens claimed her to be. “Elissa, you have a duty to the people of this realm, and if that duty requires you to attend to their festivities and the problems associated with, that is what you must do.”

She rolled, and he felt a surge of panic that she might roll straight off the roof; but she crawled to her knees, and faced him. Her face was stained with tears, and her hair was wild. There was a darker smear on her cheek, and her hand was openly bleeding. As he watched, a red drip fell from her finger and splattered against the tiles. 

“Fuck you, you stupid sanctimonious spirit, you have no idea what _duty_ means.”

There was pain there, so much pain; the tears and the blood spoke of two types of pain, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to address either. “I am duty incarnate, I know nothing but duty.”

She let out something like a shriek, a strangled, ugly noise. “You have an answer for everything, do you now?” She clambered awkwardly to her feet, weaving badly when she gained her full height, and took a staggered step towards him. The drink was affecting her worse than he had expected, and he stepped closer, anticipating needing to catch her if she fell. “Y’ know all about duty and honour and nobility-”

“I know enough,” he said. “I know you are a noble woman, in spirit and in name, and that at the end of the day you will do your duty as required of you.”

She stumbled slightly, and he put his arm out and caught her by the shoulder. “Noble by name has nothing to do with noble by nature-” 

“And you accomplish both. You are being needlessly difficult-”

Her bark of laughter cut him off, but she groaned uncomfortably and put her hand up to her mouth. When she took it away there was a red handprint over her cheek, slick in the moonlight. “There’s nothing noble about me. All I do is drink and kill darkspawn. S’all I’m good at. Shut... with your stupid _lies_.”

He risked her wrath to step closer still and put a hand on either shoulder; it stopped her from trembling quite so violently, a small comfort to him. “When you do not succumb to bouts of what I am assuming is self-pity, you are actually a remarkable woman. There is no need to resort to excessive drinking and defeatism.”

She was breathing rather heavily, her lips twisting uncomfortably every so often. “Justice,” she said slowly, “all I do is drink, and kill darkspawn, and get people killed. People _die_ around me, _a lot_. People _hate_ me. And I’m s’posed to kill darkspawn, but the fuckers just keep coming!” Her voice was growing shrill, hysterical even. “And they talk, and they organise, and they kill all the Wardens I was s’posed to lead, and they should all be _dead!_ ”

“Elissa-”

"I killed 'em, I killed all of 'em, why the fuck are they still here if I killed 'em? Should be no darkspawn, ever ever again!"

"You did no such thing, Elissa," he said firmly, "you merely defeated the Archdemon. I have read enough of your histories to know that the death of an Archdemon will not have any effect on the population of darkspawn in terms of numbers, merely their determination to mobilise and organise under the leadership of-"

"Noo, shhhh," she moaned, clapping her hands over her ears. "Don't wanna hear your stupid logic. Just _shuddup._ "

"You are determined to wallow in self-pity even when the truth asserts itself. You admit to being aware of such logic, and yet you would deny it in order to make yourself feel worse?"

"I'm _drunk,_ " she snarled, "I don't have to explain my reasoning to _you!_ "

"I doubt you could explain it to anyone."

Her lip curled back in a sneer. "Oooh, lookit you, being all sassy spirit... _thing_." Her esses slurred quite badly, and it sounded almost as if she were hissing. She tried to poke him in the chest, and missed and poked him in the shoulder hard. "Think you can talk back, eh? Think you know better'n me?"

"Elissa, you are drunk," he said patiently.

"Hah!" she snorted, weaving a little on her feet. "You never call me Elissa. Always _Commander_."

"You say it like it is an insult. I assure you it is not."

“I don’t deserve to command anyone, shouldn’t call me it.”

“I believe I have refrained from calling you Commander altogether tonight. At your repeated request, I have used your name.”

She stared at him, her mouth moving as if she was struggling to find words. “You never call me Elissa,” she said softly, brokenly.

“It is your name, is it not?”

She stared, and something changed in her eyes. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. And suddenly she was bent double, choking and heaving as the drink left her body in a most unpleasant fashion. It was possible it splashed on his shoes, but he kept a firm hold on her shoulders so that she did not fall face first into her own bile. The sounds were horrific, and the shudders that wracked her body were significant, and she was crying before the end. By the time the last of it had left her stomach, she was a shaking, sobbing wreck, and he pulled her away from the mess she had mad to a safer corner of the roof. 

He put a hand beneath her chin and turned her to face him. Her eyes were pained and glazed, wet with fresh tears, and her chin still bore the remains of a bloodied hand mark. 

“Just leave me alone,” she whispered, “I can’t sink much lower than this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Do I even count?” he asked, amused at her request. He reached up and wiped away some of the worst mess on her face, tucking her hair out of the way. “I have seen far worse things in my time, and I will see much worse before I face my end. One bad evening is not so bad, in the grand scheme of things.”

She hiccupped- it could have been a laugh, maybe. “I’m a fraud, and an idiot,” she said shakily. “I don’t know why people keep putting me in charge of things.”

“Is this about those letters on your desk?” She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “And that was what prompted this entire escapade?”

Elissa hesitated for a long moment. “My hand hurt too,” she whispered. 

He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket; keeping one had become a convenience for emergencies, and there certainly seemed to be no lack of them around the Wardens. “Give me your hand,” he said firmly, waiting for her to comply. She meekly lifted her hand, palm up, exposing the wound for whatever treatment he would apply. The outline of the ring was still evident, still weeping as if fresh and not days old. Without any better idea of what to do, he dabbed away the worst of the blood and wrapped the cloth around her hand. “That will do for now.”

Silence grew up between them, and he gave her the time to compose her own response. “I… thank you. You do more for me than you have to. You don’t have to put up with me.”

He led her to the corner of the roof facing out across the forest, and helped her to sit. He sat down beside her- with some difficulty, his body was still rebelling from the climb- and pulled her into his side. Her head came to rest against his shoulder, and he waited to see if her trembling would lessen at all. “You have done far more for me than I could ever repay,” he said gently. “And an occasional moment of weakness does not lessen my opinion of you.”

She snorted inelegantly. “You would be the only one with a high opinion of me, trust me.”

“We are noble by way of our actions, and by our continued persistence against the insufferable darkness. And I do not know a single mortal with more persistence than you. There are entire armies who are lacking compared to you.”

She groaned and hid her face in his shoulder; it was probably for the best that she had recently thrown up, otherwise the smell of his decay would probably have turned her stomach anew. “Maker, you are a terrible flatterer,” she said, her voice muffled. “You sound like Anders. Or my father. Father, actually. That sounds like something he would have said, during one of my innumerable lectures as a girl.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You received a lot of lectures, did you?”

“Oh yes,” she said innocently. “Nary a day went by without some kind of mischief I needed to be brought to task for.”

He smiled. “Not a lot has changed, it would seem.”


	15. O is for Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obsession [noun]: the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire or person; a compulsive and often unreasonable idea, emotion or reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for substance abuse, alcoholism, mania and anxiety

“And you genuinely don’t know what will happen to you if Kristoff’s body fails?” Nathaniel said, needling at the point once again. “Surely as a creature of magic you must have _some_ idea what sort of magic binds you to his body.”

“Was my answer not enough for you last time?” Justice said, not so much annoyed by the persistence of the Warden as he was wearied by it. His own existence in this realm bemused him at the best of times, without being harangued by his comrades as well. “I don’t know; I don’t understand. I can only make educated guesses at best, for this is not something I have ever encountered or sought to experience myself.”

Nathaniel shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost rocking back and forth as he stroked at his chin thoughtfully. “How would you go about jumping bodies, if you wanted to switch?” he asked, his gaze contemplative. “If you wanted to leave Kristoff’s body for good? Or if the opportunity presented itself?” 

Justice turned his head towards the centre of the street, where Elissa and Anders both occupied themselves in other tasks- Anders was talking to a rather angry looking elven woman in hushed tones over by the fence, and Elissa was… he frowned. She had announced her intention to eavesdrop on the conversation between Anders and the woman, but for the moment she seemed to be doing anything _but_ eavesdropping. Instead she was amusing a handful of urchins with her daggers, showing them the sleek, darkened blade that she’d purchased that morning from the bartender at the Crown and Lion. At their raucous cheering, she performed a few moves, the weapon twisting between her fingers easily as she smirked arrogantly at their gasps. He shook his head, trying not to let the display distract him. “I suppose I would just… will it so.”

“And do you not will it now? Isn’t it inconvenient dealing with the restrictions of a decaying body? Would it not be easier to fight for greater things if you had a living body?"

Frustration bubbled up inside him, a bitter feeling that he did not possess the wherewithal to manage in any efficient way. “Perhaps, but the point is moot, for I do not have access to a living body,” he snapped, harder than he meant to. 

Nathaniel seemed unaffected by his faltering mood. “Indulge me for a moment, and just imagine. What if the opportunity were to present itself right now? Could you do it right now, right here, just because you wanted to?”

“I would _not_. Such a thing is abominable, to possess a living host and there are certainly no alternatives in the vicinity.”

“Even if the host was willing?” Nathaniel leant back against the wall of the inn, arms crossed over his chest and a piercing look in his eyes. “Just imagine it- what would you fight for, if you had the strength of the living at your disposal?”

“ _I do not,_ ” he said flatly, his eyes fixed on Elissa so that he did not have to look at Nathaniel and see the kindling hope in his face. Her antics were drawing a crowd now, the knives twirling dangerously fast, flying through the air to be snatched by her nimble fingers as she spun and twirled along with them. She showed no hesitation at all, nothing to indicate that only a fortnight ago she had been plagued by an agonising lyrium burn on her palm. Her movements were flawless, the blade moving so fast that it whistled slightly. “I do not have a living host, willing or otherwise, so there is no point to dream of what I might have. To desire something is to succumb to temptation, and such a path will change me irreversibly. That is the path to darkness, where I will lose myself and become a demon.”

Elissa laughed in delight, the sound echoed by the crowd who clapped and cheered approvingly at her increasingly elaborate performance. 

“It is not evil to desire something,” Nathaniel countered, gesturing futilely with his hands, as if that would drive his point across more decisively. “It is only evil to covet something so desperately that it becomes something dark and twisted and hateful within you. Desire in and of itself can be a powerful and miraculous force in the world- the desire to do good, to help others, to save others, to love others. The desire to see change come about, for the betterment of others.”

He sounded like Elissa; it was amusing, how strained and awkward their rapport was, given how similar they both were. “ _You can use anger to drive your actions,_ ” she had said so long ago now, “ _and that doesn’t make you a rage demon. You are passionate about justice, and you pursue that with quite a lot of aggression- but that doesn’t make you a rage demon or a desire demon. As long as you always have the fortitude and the courage to turn aside at the right moment, then intent will never eventuate into action._ ” They were both of them wiser than they realised they were.

“Love is a desire and you admire the love Kristoff had for Aura,” Nathaniel continued, unaware that his audience had been distracted for a few moments. “Do you find that love to be dangerous?”

“It is a path to darker lusts,” Justice bit off, frustrated at his friend’s persistence, if nothing else. He did not have the answers Nathaniel clearly sought, and he had no idea what this circuitous and confronting conversation was leading towards. “It is as you said- desire may turn to covetous desperation, and I must avoid that at all costs.”

“I didn’t say that,” Nathaniel said, frowning slightly.

“I do not have the answers you seek,” Justice said, forging onwards and over Nathaniel’s attempted objection. “I do not know what I would become were I to merge with a living host, nor do I know if such a joining would even be safe. Certainly I would not be _considered_ safe, and would risk the life of my host by forcing them into a life of persecution and oppression and secrecy. That is hardly a just action to undertake.”

“It would hardly be unjust if it was a willing partnership,” Nathaniel said. “Really, it’s no different from, say, joining the Wardens. You know you’re signing up to a dangerous and unpredictable life; you just don’t have a clear grasp of the details. You accept the risks and you move on and you make the best of what you have with the new opportunities in front of you.”

Justice stared at him, jaw tight with tension. “I do not know what you seek from me, Howe,” he said, genuinely apprehensive about the abundance of questions into a topic that he himself did not understand and could not think of without uneasiness. 

At that moment, Elissa turned and hurled one of the daggers straight towards Anders, drawing gasps and shrieks of alarm and delight from the assembled crowd, and a shout of warning from Nathaniel. The knife thudded into the wooden fence, a hairsbreadth from the fingers of Anders’ companion. The woman swore loudly and nearly fell, staggering away from the still vibrating blade as if it were a flaming darkspawn. Anders made a half-hearted attempt to help her and stop her from falling flat on her face, but his wince of distaste was clearly visible even from this distance.

“Maker’s Breath, that woman is going to get herself or someone else killed someday soon,” Nathaniel said with an agitated sigh, pushing off from the wall and heading over to where Elissa was cackling in delight, the other blade still twisting between her fingers almost absently- to the gleeful appreciation of the urchins. The rest of the crowd began to disperse as Nathaniel and Justice approached, and Elissa sketched an elaborate bow in the direction of the stragglers.

“Your local theatrical Arlessa,” she called, “I am available for dinner and raiding parties, and I accept most bribes.”

Nathaniel looked utterly disgusted. “ _Andraste’s tits_ , Elissa, what exactly do you think you’re _doing?_ Apart from acting like a child, of course.”

She winked extravagantly at him. “Notoriety never hurt anyone,” she said calmly, walking over to the fence to retrieve her dagger. She wrenched it free with ease, spinning it once for emphasis. “And I was bored.”

“Oh, well, thanks so much for aiming your boredom at me,” Anders snapped, his hand still awkwardly around the upper arm of his female friend. Neither of them looked happy. “You could have hit me!”

“And yet I didn’t.” With a small bow, she said “Don’t mention it.”

“Word is bound to get back to the other nobles about your erratic behaviour in public, or the king,” Nathaniel said from between gritted teeth. “And what then?”

“We’ll tell them I hit my head a little too hard all those weeks back out in the woods and have turned into a loon,” she said, grinning wolfishly. She sheathed both knives with a flourish, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the fence as if they were simply discussing the weather, and she hadn’t nearly taken a strange woman’s hand off.

“They’ll take the Arling away from you,” Nathaniel said pointedly.

Her eyes flashed to a steely colour. “They’re _welcome_ to it,” she said, her words a little sharp despite her smile. “Nobody asked me if I wanted it, or if I was fit to lead in any capacity. That happens a lot with me, it seems. ‘Here’s an opportunity for disaster, how can we make it worse? Oh I know, let’s throw the Cousland girl in there, that’ll go down _superbly_ ’.”

“At least you’ve never taken a bribe,” Justice said.

While Nathaniel and Anders blinked in surprise at the complete change in conversation, her expression turned sly. “Haven’t I, my dearly naïve spirit? Can you be so certain of that? I’ve certainly _offered_ them, that’s for sure. That’s how I learned the fancy fingerwork on my knives.” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “There was this bard a few years ago- he’d been sent to kill my father, infiltrate the castle under the pretence of song and dance, the usual stuff. I clued into him pretty quickly, and I managed to convince him to accept… another _sort_ of payment so as not to complete the contract, and in the matter of events he taught me how to handle a knife when we were too exhausted to do-”

“Yes, thank you Elissa,” Nathaniel said loudly, his face pained. “I’m sure we don’t need the sordid details.”

She shrugged. “Hey, if you’re stuck in an oppressive situation, you make it work to your advantage. Have a bit of fun, enjoy yourself.”

“The spoiled only daughter of a teyrn is hardly entitled to scream oppression,” Anders said mockingly, finally letting go of his acquaintance as if he’d only just realised he still had her in his grip. “I’m fairly certain that qualifies as a position as far from oppression as possible.”

The dark look in her eyes sharpened. “But of _course_ ,” she said, “we’re only allowed to have known oppression if it’s something _Anders_ is familiar with and gives it that special mage tick of approval. That’s the _only_ type of oppression we’re allowed to acknowledge at _all_.”

Anders flushed red, his eyes furious. “I didn’t mean-”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter! Moving on, before I get bored of you.” She looked pointedly at the scowling woman in their midst. “And what delightful secrets do you have for us today, my lovely snitch? What do you know that’s had our dear Anders sprinting eagerly out to the city like a hound with a scent?”

The woman spat on the ground near Elissa’s feet. “Fuck you, lady, I ain’t no snitch, and I don’t like fancy people like yourself looking down on me just cause I ain’t got a _ser_ in front of me name and cause I have the wrong ears. _Bitch_.”

The words were barely from her mouth before Justice had his hand twisted into the front of her shirt and was dragging her upwards. “ _Do not speak to her in that manner!_ ” he roared, nearly shaking her in his fury. 

“Justice!” Anders squawked in alarm, lunging forward and grabbing him by the arm to try and pull him off, at the same time that Nathaniel yelled “ _Let her go!”_

Furious, Justice dropped her immediately; the woman went sprawling into the dirt, for which he felt a small measure of satisfaction. “ _Maker_ , Namaya, I’m _so_ sorry!” Anders said desperately, kneeling to help her up.

She threw off his offer of assistance, shoving at his hands and staggering to her feet by herself. “Fuck you,” she stammered, “you weren’t gonna get anything more from me in the first place, and after this little freak show? Your boss thinks it’s funny to throw knives at people not as special as her, and then this guy smells like a fucking swamp and likes to rough people up ‘cause his girlfriend can’t do it? Yeah, fuck off Anders. We’re _done_.”

“Namaya!” he yelled, his hand darting out as if he meant to grab at her. “Just-”

She evaded him easily. “ _No_ , Anders!”

Elissa, perched happily on the fence, covered her mouth with her hand and whispered theatrically “Oops!”

Anders let out a strangled sort of shout, kicking viciously at the nearby fence. “Thanks a _lot!_ ” he snarled angrily, watching Namaya stalk away briskly. “She was just telling me… _gah!_ This could have been my freedom!”

“You already _have_ your freedom,” Nathaniel said pointedly, rolling his eyes. “Unless you’re making some shady deal in the back alleys to get out of your obligation to the Wardens now too.”

“And if I were?” Anders said sarcastically, trying to scrape the mud from the street off of his robes. “What would you do, with all your wounded manly pride on behalf of the Wardens? Would you try to stop me?” 

“Maybe I would!” Nathaniel said harshly, matching Anders’ glare as he widened his stance and uncrossed his arms. The two of them looked like they were about to come to blows.

Elissa cleared her throat loudly and deliberately. “Gentlemen,” she said sweetly. “You’re making a scene.”

Anders looked ready to tear his hair out. “It was about my _phylactery,_ ” he said, the last word so quiet that he practically just mouthed the syllables; he glanced hurriedly over his shoulder to make sure that no one was within hearing distance. “And there’s a possibility that it might be here in Amaranthine, but you three might have ruined _everything_ with your grandiose show of stupidity!”

She scoffed. “Oh, of course, because you were off to such a flying start and all- what with the lying to us and the holding the conversation within spitting distance of the Chantry and the fact that she looked like she thought you were shit on the bottom of her shoe.”

“Yes, please continue to mock my attempts to free myself from tyranny; it does wonders for my self esteem and my respect for you.”

“You could have just come and asked me,” she said icily, her demeanour changing instantly, “rather than making a scene in the main marketplace and screaming about freedom at the top of your lungs. Or did you think I was going to say no? Did you think I’d be petty enough to deny you this?”

“I don’t _know_ what you would do, Elissa, because you’re such an unruly hellion that I can’t ever tell if you’re smiling or snarling! Your mood changes from one breath to the next and I don’t know if I want to put my life in the hands of someone so unpredictable!”

“She is hardly unpredictable,” Justice snapped, interjecting for the first time since lashing out at the elven woman for her insult. “If you took but a moment to-”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, Justice, we get it! You’re obsessed with the Commander, you think the sun shines out her ass, and for someone dedicated to hunting out darkspawn and injustice, you spend an awful lot of time hunting out her company instead!”

Elissa sat up straighter, almost sliding from her perch on the fence. “Anders,” she hissed, “shut _up_.”

Justice drew himself up to his full height, anger sizzling through him with the fury of an inferno. “I have pledged my strength and my honour to defend that of the Warden Commander,” Justice said in an icy cold tone, impressed with himself for keeping a lid on the seething rage within him. “I am not required to explain myself to _you_.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Nathaniel muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache, “can we please take this somewhere more private? The last thing we need today is for the Wardens to be seen squabbling like a pack of unruly children.”

“I’m going to find my phylactery,” Anders said, shooting Elissa a filthy look. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I never said you couldn’t indulge your little obsession,” she said with a shrug pushing up off the fence. “We wouldn’t want it to be known how oppressed and persecuted all my little Wardens are now, would we?”

He paled, almost vibrating from the strength of the fury that radiated from him, before shoving past her and storming down the street. Nathaniel watched him go, and then glanced back at the pair of them. “That was tactless, even for you,” he said bluntly, before jogging off after Anders, calling his name as he caught up to him. His hand went to Anders shoulder, a gesture that Justice recognised as comforting even from this distance.

He was getting better at that, he realised. Recognising body language, noticing the change in inflection when someone spoke; it was a slow journey to awareness, but he was improving. 

Elissa sighed exaggeratedly and waved a hand in the direction of the two men. “I suppose we’d best head after them, before they do something stupid and don’t have me around to blame.”

Justice looked at her sharply. “You are not yourself,” he said. “Why do you exult in such shallow, hurtful statements? This is not your way at all.”

She laughed once, somewhat incredulously. There was scorn in her voice, and derision in her eyes. “Maker’s Breath, Anders is right. What makes you think you know what ‘ _my way_ ’ is? You only see what you want to see, Justice- you have _no idea_ who I am capable of being.”

He frowned. “That is not true in the slightest. We are friends. Comrades. I have given you my pledge to stand by your side for as long as you will have me.”

Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second, and he caught a flash of something broken and hurting deep within her. She covered it quickly, cocking an eyebrow at him while her lips twisted into an insincere smile. “You’ve known me for two months, Justice,” she said flippantly. She headed off down the street in the direction of Anders and Nathaniel, calling over her shoulder “I’m no hero, and I’m certainly no spirit of grace and goodness. I’m a pretty nasty piece of work most days. You’d be better off placing your faith in someone more deserving.”

As she walked away, she flexed her burned hand, as if it pained her. 

***

It was an abandoned warehouse at the back of the market district, a rundown affair almost hidden behind the forge of the weaponsmith. Given the way the furnace belched noxious smoke right into their path, it wasn’t surprising that the warehouse had been abandoned- while the fumes didn’t affect Justice, it pained him to see his fellows forced to resort to handkerchiefs held over their noses and mouths. Anders attempted to clear the air once, sending up a gust of air; it worked for a moment, but the breeze was against them and the cloud returned moments later.

“Just smash the lock,” Elissa said irritably, her voice muffled beneath the cloth. 

Anders cast a glare back over his shoulder. “I can’t just smash my way in,” he said. “If this is really a secret Templar repository, they’re likely to have wards against magical intrusion. If I try to break in, it’ll likely ricochet back against me tenfold.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh for Fade’s sake,” she muttered, shoving past Nathaniel and roughly nudging Anders out of the way. Before any of them could stop her, she had her new dagger in her hand with the grip reversed, and she slammed the hilt down onto the cumbersome but rusty padlock on the door. There was a bright spark of energy and a cracking noise that was far louder than was warranted; Anders stepped backwards in alarm, wincing at the output of hostile power and throwing his arm up to shield himself.

None of it seemed to faze Elissa. She tucked the knife back into the sheathe, cooing for a moment over a scuff on the gleaming hilt, and then pulled the broken pieces of metal out of the collapsed lock before bracing her shoulder against the door and shoving. It fell inward with a clang and she stumbled slightly, catching and righting herself as the dust settled.

“Well Anders,” she said, coughing at the combination of the dust and the fumes from the furnace behind them, “you may be onto something. Most landlords don’t lock up an empty building with a Fade-powered padlock. There was definitely something important here at one point.”

She flexed her burned hand again, the fingers curling over the damaged skin of her palm, and her other hand hovered for a moment over her belt pouch. The distraction passed, though, and her hands fell back to her sides; as if she noticed the attention he was paying her, she glanced back over her shoulder at him and scowled, before moving deeper into the building. Nathaniel and Anders followed, Justice bringing up the rear. 

“It doesn’t look like much of anything,” Nathaniel said, poking at a dusty tarp with his foot. The room was stacked with rotting crates, some covered by moth-eaten canvas, others lying about with heavy but rusted chains wrapped about them.

“No, no, that’s just it,” Anders said excitedly. “Of course they wouldn’t want it to look like anything important- why would they want to draw attention to it? The phylacteries are one of the greatest secrets of the Templars, so of course they’re not going to plonk them in a building with a big sign out the front that says ‘ _Clandestine Phylactery Facility: Mages Need Not Apply’_.”

Elissa spun in a slow circle, arms crossed as she surveyed the room. “I would have thought perhaps a few guards would have been in order… this seems too easy.”

“It’s not like they have an abundance of Templars these days, after the debacle at Kinloch Hold last year,” Anders pointed out. “And the door was sealed with enough force to disable even the most talented of mages- I felt it when you broke through the magic seal. Which, now that I think about it, was interesting in the first place, because normally only s-”

“You learn all kinds of things when you have to end a Blight by yourself,” she said sharply, keeping her back to him. Justice, standing sentinel by the door, narrowed his eyes at the tension that rippled through her shoulders, the hint of alarm in her voice when she interrupted Anders. Her hands were constantly in motion, fidgeting with everything and anything she could reach, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that they were trembling. 

She clenched her burnt hand once, twice, three times; her fingers flexed as if she was stretching them to work out a cramp. And they were definitely trembling. 

“Something is not right.” He did not realise he had spoken aloud until Elissa said “You can say that again. Anders, I don’t know about this. I don’t see anything that looks like crates full of glass vials. This place doesn’t look like anyone has been here in a long time.”

Anders made a sound of frustration. “Don’t you get it? That’s perfect! Of course they don’t want to draw attention to this place, or make it look used. Namaya said they’d only just transferred them towards the end of the Blight because they were worried about storing them in Denerim. They’ve only been here for a few months, tops. And there are other rooms here, towards the back, we can look there-”

“Fine, fine,” she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Let’s get this over and done with so you stop obsessing and we can go home.”

He stopped, and the stillness that fell over him screamed danger. Justice went on the alert instantly, taking a few steps forward in the event that he needed to intervene. “Is this all a joke to you?” Anders snarled, storming in close to Elissa. She scowled up at him but held her tongue. “Is it really tiresome for you to listen to me moan on and on about how I’m afraid for my life? My apologies, next time I’m on my way to being hung for being accused of being a maleficar, I’ll try to be more light-hearted about it!”

“There’s _nothing here_ , Anders!” she said bluntly, over-enunciating each word as if she was talking to a child. “Forgive my scepticism when you lead us into a rotting building on the word of a woman who clearly didn’t like you, in pursuit of some ridiculous idea that there are still Templars lurking under the bed waiting to snatch you away! You are a _Warden_ now, with the blessing of the King no less, and yet you go behind my back to invent conspiracies and possibly piss off the Chantry! What am I _supposed_ to think?”

Anders made a strangled sort of gurgling noise through his teeth, his face twisted horribly as he clearly fought the urge to snarl back at her. He spun on his heel and stomped briskly from the room, and with a pained sigh Elissa followed. Nathaniel looked awkwardly at Justice, who could only return his gaze solemnly; the archer sighed and headed after them to the back room, with Justice bringing up the rear. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the room did not possess the longed for phylacteries, but it did have something else- three Templars, with a dark haired woman grinning almost maniacally at Anders, who was staring in dumbstruck horror. Elissa already had her daggers free, her feet spread wide in a fighting stance as she stood between Anders and the Templars. Nathaniel and Justice reached instantly for their weapons, matched by the two knights standing opposite them. 

“What in the Void are you doing here?” she snarled, jerking her chin towards the woman in the centre, rousing a moment of surprise in Justice. Her tone clearly indicated that she had more than a passing acquaintance with this Templar, because the hatred in her voice was surprisingly familiar. 

The woman smirked at her. “Springing a trap,” she said, turning her gaze towards Anders. “Anders. So nice of you to have come. And here I was worried you’d be too intelligent for such an obvious ploy.”

“Rylock,” Anders whispered, his face pale. “I should have guessed this was too good to be true.”

“Of course you should have,” she said snipply. To Elissa she said, “I apologise that it has come to this, Commander, but you made a poor choice in taking this man in. He is not-”

“I’ll be the judge of my own poor decisions, thank you,” Elissa growled. “I am perfectly happy with Anders as a Grey Warden, and your petty vendetta against him unfortunately loses out in this scenario.” Without looking away from the enemy before her, she said, “Nathaniel, please escort Anders to safety. Justice will remain with me while I have words with-”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Commander,” Rylock said softly, drawing her own sword. The tension in the room rocketed skywards. “Anders is a murderer, and a maleficar, and while the Wardens have a history of welcoming such monsters within their ranks, I’m afraid we cannot allow it this time. Anders is too much of a threat to the general public to be allowed to continue traipsing about the countryside playing make believe with a woman equally as deluded as he.”

Elissa laughed viciously. “Oh, your bartering skills leave much to be desired, Lieutenant,” she said. “And here I was thinking I was going to let you leave this place alive.”

Rylock smiled coldly at her. “What a shame I can’t say the same for you.”

Despite her fanatical faith in the rightness of her cause, Rylock clearly hadn’t expected to come up against four full strength Wardens, and the superior numbers in the small space made all the difference. Elissa launched herself at the other woman, her two smaller blades clashing noisily with the two handed sword that was swung straight at her head. Nathaniel took up the newly vacated spot beside Anders, the two of them slinging projectiles at the Templars, while Justice roared in fury and lunged at the remaining warrior. 

Justice took down his opponent first, taking advantage of the fear inspired by his appearance and cleaving his greatsword through the Templar’s armour as if it were paper, not steel. The man collapsed instantly, blood gushing from the chest wound as he hit the floor and did not stand again. Nathaniel got off a lucky shot, his arrow managing to pierce through the eye slit of the second man; Anders followed it with a blast of cold that had the man sprawling backwards against the wall. He did not rise either. 

And Elissa followed a few seconds later, her speed and agility giving her the advantage in the close quarters that Rylock couldn’t hope to match. When Rylock overextended herself on a swing, Elissa slipped in past her guard and had her blade through the Templar’s throat before the woman could recover her balance. Rylock looked surprised, her mouth hanging open as if she were trying to gasp or say something; instead only blood oozed down her chin as she stared at Elissa. As her eyes went glassy, Elissa tugged the knife free and stepped back, letting the body slump awkwardly to the floor.

For a long, agonising moment they were all silent, only the sound of their breathing interrupting the quiet. 

“They were going to kill us,” Elissa whispered finally, her face ash white. She staggered back from the bodies, her hands shaking so violently that she dropped her blades. She clenched her hands into fists, and pressed them into her stomach, her eyes wild. She looked across the room to Anders. “They were going to kill us just to get you.”

Nathaniel quickly skirted the room and headed to the only other door, sticking his head through to make sure there were no more surprises waiting for them. “So the phylacteries aren’t here?” he asked.

“No,” Anders said softly, tugging a ragged handkerchief from his belt pouch and beginning to wipe the blood from his face and hands. His eyes were dead and haunted. “It was a trap.”

Justice felt his entire being seethe in outrage. This woman, this Rylock, had sought to supersede the law of both the Chantry and the Wardens in order to force a single mage back into imprisonment? She had been willing to murder in cold blood not just other Wardens, not just the Warden Commander, but an Arlessa in the process? She had ignored the law of the land to satisfy a personal vendetta, and had determined that the imprisonment of a mage was worth the death of Elissa?

He had not known anger like this since he had first encountered the Baroness in the Fade so long ago. Anders was right- a mage was never free. His apprehension and his fear and his bitterness whenever he broached the subject of mage freedom suddenly made sense, and he knew without a doubt that this simply would not do.

Never before had he encountered such a vast and almost insurmountable injustice. 

“Anders,” he said, gripping him firmly by the shoulder, “you need not abandon hope. We can fight them.”

Anders laughed bitterly, refusing to make eye contact as he kept wiping the blood from his hands with the tattered rag. He was being relentless, scrubbing long after the red smears were fully gone and his skin was pink from the friction. “There are always more of them,” he said, his voice dull and lifeless. “Always another ready to drag me back to-”

“ _Anders._ ” He forced him to face him, covering the rag with one hand to stop the feverish attempts at cleaning. “You said yourself that this woman plagued you endlessly, seeking your imprisonment and punishment with an impossible fervour. And yet she lies dead. She is defeated! They can all be defeated! This is the first step, the first to fall in a line of foes who will all face judgement for the discrimination and the hatred they perpetuate. It can be done.”

Anders looked up at him, the tiniest kernel of hope in his eyes. “It isn’t that easy, Justice,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. 

“The road to change never is,” Justice said firmly, willing his friend to see the truth, to accept that even the greatest injustice could be resolved, that together, they might-

“What is that?” Justice turned at Nathaniel’s words, finding the archer hovering over Elissa as she did her best to hide a small flask, palming it so that it was out of sight quickly. “What in the Void was that? Was that glowing?”

“It’s nothing,” she said weakly, but he was faster than her, and she was still badly affected by the fight, because he was able to wrestle it from her rather quickly. He frowned as he rolled the small flask over in his palm, looking for a label, before holding it up to his nose to sniff. 

He recoiled violently. “ _Maker_ , Elissa! What is this?”

“I said it’s nothing!” she snarled, lunging for his hand to free it from him, but Anders had intervened and taken it before she could reach it. Like Nathaniel, he sniffed it and swore loudly.

“Aqua Magus?” He threw the flask into the corner of the room. “Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?”

“If I am that’s nobody’s business but my own!” she shrieked. She looked a frightening sight as she tried to claw free of Nathaniel’s grip on her- she was splattered liberally with Rylock’s blood, and her eyes were wild and desperate. She looked almost unhinged. “You give that back!”

“I don’t understand,” Nathaniel said loudly, speaking over her squawks of protest. “What the Void is Aqua Magus?”

Anders was eyeing Elissa warily. “It’s alcohol laced with lyrium,” he said. “The alcohol by itself is strong enough to waylay the faint of heart, and that’s before you throw the lyrium into the mix. It's usually deadly to non mages. Elissa, where the fuck did you get this and why would you think it’s okay to poison yourself this way?”

She managed to wrench herself free of Nathaniel finally, staggering backwards and scooping up her daggers as she went. Justice was standing before the door and she hesitated in front of him, genuine fear in her eyes. He could hear the song of the lyrium coming from her, but it wasn’t pure like the ring she had given him. It was discordant, a melody still, but a broken one.

It was a horrifying thing to realise how fitting it was for her. 

“Let me pass, Justice,” she whispered, her hair loose around her face and her eyes wild. She was panicked, afraid, hurting; the attack from the Templars had unhinged something inside of her, her reaction proved that. She truly hadn’t believed they were in danger, and for some reason the knowledge that she was wrong hurt her deeply. “ _Please._ ” 

“Don’t let her go, Justice,” Anders said sharply, creeping carefully up behind her. Now that she had her daggers back, she was a force to be reckoned with and he clearly didn’t want a blade in the belly if she panicked. “She’s taken poison, and she needs help.”

He should stop her. She clearly wasn’t in control of herself, and if Anders was right and she had indeed poisoned herself, it would be putting her life at risk to let her escape. And what exactly did she hope to achieve in running? Where was she planning to go, and why did she feel the need to run from them, her allies?

“Please, Justice,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. She was trembling violently. “Let me go.”

The tears in her eyes were his undoing. “The thought of you succumbing to poison pains me more than the thought of you despising me,” he said; her eyes widened in panic as his words sunk in. “I am sorry, Elissa.”

Before she could attempt to push past him, or fight back, he batted the knives from her hands and grabbed for her, pinning her arms to her sides so that she could not escape. She screeched in fury and fought like a wildcat, but it was no good- against the three Wardens she had no hope of winning. She spewed profanities at them as they bound her hands behind her back, kicking and sobbing and attempting to bite when they came too close; Justice managed to keep her upright with great difficulty, less inclined to fear her snapping teeth than the other two were. 

Anders had nothing in his belt pouch to counteract lyrium poisoning, and could only offer a basic anti-venom in the meantime; she snarled and refused to swallow, choking on it instead when she gasped for air. Her sobbing was hysterical, and her words as she screeched at them made no sense, and when Anders attempted to send her into a restorative sleep she even fought against that, refusing the lure of sleep and hissing drunkenly at them. 

Eventually her movements grew sluggish, and her head began to slump towards her chest. Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed as she stared up at Justice, her breathing shallow. He found himself supporting more and more of her weight, as her legs began to give out beneath her.

She shuddered one final time and breathed “ _I trusted you._ ” Then the light vanished from her eyes, and she slumped against him completely.

He wanted it to be a whisper of thanks, but he knew it for what it was- an accusation. She thought herself betrayed by him.

In all his time in the mortal realm, nothing hurt him more than those three words. And he knew, in that moment, that he had a gravely underestimated the depths of his feelings for her. 

For a creature not made to know such feelings, that was very bad indeed.


	16. P is for Pariah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pariah [noun]: an outcast, any person or animal that is generally avoided and despised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for allusions to attempted suicide, depression, alcoholism and substance abuse

“Ain’t no one never got themselves all shook up last time I had a bit too much of the sauce.”

Justice frowned. “Dwarf, that is far too many contractions in a single statement. Do you even know what it is that you said just now?”

Oghren cackled. “’ve no idea what the Stone it is I say most of the time, why should now be different?” He had a flask in his hand, and he took a liberal swig, smacking his lips together appreciatively. He offered it to Justice, who just glared at him. “Commander’s a big girl- she can handle a few drinks.”

“The Commander has _lyrium_ poisoning.” It was a sobering, horrifying thought. He knew logically that although the precious stone sang so sweetly to him, it was considerably less appealing to the mortals in this realm. He knew it was dangerous- he’d seen the scar on Elissa’s hand to know that truth first hand. But a painful scar and a vague understanding of mortality were entirely different to seeing his Commander so very nearly destroyed by it. He had vowed to serve and protect her, and now… “She came close to death. That is _significantly_ different to two or three drinks and not to be taken lightly.”

Oghren shrugged. “Lis’ come close to death a dozen times since I known her.” Justice resisted the urge to snarl at him to correct his speech; clearly his frustration was building if he could allow himself to be so affected by poor grammar. “And a dozen more before that. We all go out some way. ‘f she’s going out with a good drink in her hand, I say let her; ‘s how I’ll likely go out in the end.”

It took a Justice a moment to comprehend Oghren’s nonsensical ramblings; when he did he roared and surged to his feet. Towering over the dwarf, he snarled “So you would just _condemn_ Elissa to _death?_ Let the poison _take her?_ ”

Oghren grunted and took another draw of the flask. “A person don’t drink like that unless they’re trying to get themselves dead,” he said, oddly serious. “She ain’t doing it for kicks-”

“You have _no idea_ of what it is you speak of!” 

“Course I know it. Been there meself, ain’t I?” He patted the seat next to him, which Justice had so recently vacated. “Sit yer ass down, corpse boy. She’s not going anywhere for a few more days at least.”

***

She was confined to her rooms; bed rest, was the reason that Anders gave. She’d apparently been imbibing the Aqua Magus for several days prior to them having caught her with it. Anders said the damage wasn’t irreparable, but it was extensive.

Not a lethal dose, but close to it.

He found it hard to find people willing to answer his questions. Varel remained tight-lipped and closed off, and Woolsey refused to speak to him at all.

He went past Elissa’s rooms at night, and nodded to the soldier keeping guard at the door. He wasn’t sure if the sound at the edge of his hearing was Elissa crying on the other side of the wall, and the guard never gave him the opportunity to find out.

***

He came across Velanna and Anders speaking in hushed tones in one of the stairwells of the Keep; an odd enough sight to make him pause, as the two showed very little sign of solidarity towards one another normally.

“… hasn’t progressed too badly,” Anders was murmuring, “… fever is coming down… wounds will take longer… say so?”

Velanna scoffed. “Why are you even bothering to ask me? You’re the better healer out of the two of us.”

The sound echoed well in the hollow shell of the stairwell, and he could hear the conversation adequately without alerting them to his presence. Remaining silent, Justice stayed where he was.

Anders frowned at Velanna. “I don’t exactly have extensive knowledge of lyrium poisoning, or withdrawals. That’s not something they were particularly forthcoming about in the Circle.”

“What? You mean to tell me they didn’t teach the Templar-hating maleficar more possible ways to one up his captors? Colour me surprised.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , I apologise for assuming that a Keeper would know a little bit about esoteric magical healing; after all, it’s not like you’re responsible for maintaining the lore and history of your people- oh but wait, you have trouble even keeping watch over your _people_ …”

Velanna snarled violently at him. “ _Ar tu na’din_ ,” she hissed, and beneath their feet the stones groaned and shifted, as if under assault from the earth itself. 

Recognising the threat of violence in the air, Justice made sure to step loudly as he descended the stairs. “Wardens,” he said tersely, “am I interrupting?”

Anders threw him a dirty look and the energy crackling around Velanna was so thick that Justice could almost taste a hint of the Fade once more. But the sharp tang of imminent violence receded, and Velanna instead turned her attention to him. “Not at all, Justice,” she said, her words sweet but her voice icy cool. “I was just leaving, as it should so happen.”

“But, Velanna-”

“Save it, shem!” The words snapped out of her like a whip, and Anders flinched slightly. “I sincerely doubt there’s anything further that a clanless Keeper and a blood thirsty maleficar could have to talk about at this point.”

As she began to walk away, Anders tried another approach. “But what about Elis-”

“There’s nothing more I can do for her,” she called over her shoulder, and then hesitated. A sigh whispered back to them. “She is at the mercy of Sylaise.” And then she was gone, her feet rapping smartly against the stone before she vanished around the corner. 

Justice turned to Anders, who looked like he would rather be anywhere in that moment than alone with him. “You insulted her gravely.”

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore the part where she suggested I deal with demons and kill people, are we? Fantastic.” Anders pushed past him. “I have to go.”

“How is Elissa?” Justice asked bluntly, hoping the desperation he felt was not evident in his voice.

Anders hesitated, and nearly glanced back towards him; then his hands clenched into fists at his side and he marched firmly onwards, leaving Justice alone in the stairwell, with more questions and even more discontent within.

***

There was no laughter in the Keep, no joking in the mess hall when the wardens and soldiers gathered to eat. Varel, with Nathaniel’s help, was doing his best to keep the rumours under control and morale from plummeting, but it wasn’t exactly working. Even Justice could gauge the dismal mood amongst the inhabitants. 

He heard enough of the whispers to know that she’d survived the poison, and been improving for several days now. That did not explain why she had not made a reappearance, or the whispers about wounds, or why he was not allowed to visit her. No one was allowed to visit her, he had noticed. 

He didn’t know whether that was the Seneschal’s rule, or Elissa’s. 

***

Sigrun was sitting up on the battlements, not quite at _their_ place, but near enough to it that Justice noticed her when he sought solitude on the rooftop. She was seated with her legs dangling out over the space, staring off down the road towards the Pilgrim’s Path with a pensive look on her face. He must have closed the door from the Keep too loudly, for she glanced in his direction.

“Hey, Justice,” she called, waving at him. He took that as an invitation to approach and came to stand beside her. 

“Sigrun,” he said by way of greeting. “What is it you do up here? Surely it is dangerous to sit on the edge like that.”

She snorted. “Just, ah, keeping watch,” she said, turning back to face the road and quite obviously ignoring his concern for her safety. “They say the King is coming. And Teyrn Cousland.”

“Who is ‘ _they_ ’?” 

“Heard Varel and Nate talking about it,” she said, swinging her legs to bump her heels against the stone repeatedly. “They sent word to them a couple of days ago, ‘n they’re supposed to be getting here today or tomorrow.”

“Why would they send word to them? I do not understand.”

She shrugged, her heels beating a random tattoo against the wall. “Beats me. They weren’t kind enough to say within hearing range, and I didn’t really want them to know I was eavesdropping.”

He frowned at her, and opened his mouth to chastise her, but she was one step ahead of him. “And before you go flapping your mouth off about how awful it is that I was listening in, and that I should make amends by feeding orphans or something, you have been badgering everyone for information for over a week now, so don’t say you aren’t grateful that I told you something.”

He closed his mouth with a clack, teeth chomping together harder than he was expecting; sometimes he still misjudged the movement of his body. Or was it that the frustration and anger he felt had clouded his controls? 

“… understand her brother, but not so sure about the King. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Justice shook himself, and refocussed on the little dwarf. “I apologise; I was occupied by other things.”

Sigrun laughed. “I said, I can understand why Varel would think it’s a good idea to ask her brother to come to the Keep, but I don’t really get why he’d send for the King. I know he’s a warden too, technically, but it seems sort of cruel to get him involved.”

“What are they hoping her brother will achieve that the healers have not? Is her brother a mage?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just good to have family around you in hard times.” There was something wistful in her tone. “Fergus is the only family she has left, so they must think having her brother here will help her.”

That didn’t make a great deal of sense; Elissa rarely spoke of her brother or family, and when she did it was rarely with any fondness. 

“Do you have a brother, Sigrun?”

“Do _you?_ ” she quipped instantly.

“I am a spirit- we do not have any bonds of family. We are not born. It is impossible for me to have a sibling of any sort.”

She scoffed, a sound that was supposed to convey her amusement, but instead he sensed… bitterness from her. Regret. “Yeah, well, I’m from the Legion. I’m dead. It’s impossible for me to have family of any sort too.”

He was silent for a moment, trying to read her reaction. “I do not think having her family here will help her,” he said quietly.

She glanced up at him. “I don’t either, big guy,” she said, and then sighed. “But it’s not really our place to say.” 

***

It was evident now that the noises coming from the other side of the wall were the sounds of Elissa crying. The Keep was silent in the dead of night but for her sobs, and the soldiers stationed outside her door could chase him off only so often before they gave up and accepted his taciturn presence. 

Sometimes she railed and shouted through her tears, swearing and cursing until her voice became raw and haggard. He couldn’t really tell who her anger was directed at- it seemed quite vague. 

Most of the time she was silent. And he was forbidden to speak to her, so it wasn’t as if she was aware of his presence outside. 

But he had no idea what else he could do to help her.

***

Justice was in the great hall when the King and the Teyrn arrived, with surprisingly little fanfare. He had spent several hours that morning with Anders in the infirmary, attending to the myriad nicks and tears that he had accumulated, applying balms and spells to increase the lifetime of Kristoff’s body. He could still feel the tingle of magic, and he felt rejuvenated, enough so that when he saw Nathaniel usher two men into the Keep he felt bold enough to approach them directly.

Nathaniel noticed him at the last moment, his eyes going wide and his hand jerking as if he meant to warn him off, but it was too late. 

“You are here to see Elissa, yes?” He did not give them a moment to answer. “I wish to see her. They have not allowed me to visit her while she has been ill.”

His proclamation met with a few moments of stunned silence, before one of them said “What on earth _are_ you?”

“Your Majesty,” Nathaniel said from between gritted teeth, “your Grace, this is Justice. He is a spirit that Elissa, ah, recruited several weeks back.”

“He looks dead,” the other said bluntly. His dark hair and features drew to mind Elissa’s own, and Justice presumed this was her brother. She did not speak of him often.

“In truth I am,” Justice said. “Or rather, the body I inhabit is deceased.”

He bore the same weary sadness that Elissa carried when she thought no one was looking, and the same hollow look in his eyes. “Well, no wonder no one let you near Elissa. Spending time around a dead body can’t be good for the health of anyone.”

Justice felt a mild sense of outrage at the slight. “Well, Elissa deems my presence to be acceptable, and I trust her judgement.”

The Teyrn rolled his eyes, and for a moment it was easy to see them as siblings. “You would be the only one in all of Thedas,” he said snidely, then sighed impatiently. “Where is she, then? Or have you left her to rot in a room full of more corpses?”

“Anders has been seeing to her recovery, Your Majesty,” Nathaniel offered quickly. “He wants to speak to you about your knowledge of lyrium withdrawals.”

The one that Justice presumed was King Alistair looked surprised. “What, the maleficar? She kept him around?”

“Anders is _not_ a maleficar,” Justice said angrily, almost cutting him off. His outburst caused a moment of awkward silence before Fergus cleared his throat.

“Well,” Teyrn Cousland said stiffly, “my sister certainly keeps odd company these days. Corpses and maleficars and traitors. I’m surprised we weren’t summoned earlier.”

Nathaniel stiffened, his expression frozen as if carved from stone. It was clear that the Teyrn’s words had hurt him deeply, but for whatever reason he chose not to acknowledge or challenge them. “She is currently in her room, my lords. If it pleases you, we can go straight there.”

“Please,” the King said wearily, “I’d like to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.”

The three men headed towards the stairs; when Justice made to follow, Nathaniel frowned at him and shook his head subtly. Justice decided that this was the precise moment to not comprehend the subtleties of body language, and blithely continued to follow them. 

“Justice,” Nathaniel began, “while we appreciate your concern-”

“I wish to see Elissa,” he said bluntly.

“That is not an option,” Fergus said coolly. “I didn’t get dragged all this way to help my sister only to have a corpse… spirit thing storm past me and coddle her.” 

Justice frowned at him. “I do not-”

“Justice,” Nathaniel said sharply, “in the event that Elissa is incapacitated, leadership of the Wardens defaults to either myself or Varel. In my capacity as leader, I am ordering you to stay here.”

“I have made no vows to the Wardens, only to Elissa.”

“And I stand here in her stead with her authority. _Stay here_ , Justice. This is not for you to involve yourself in.”

The three men made their way to the back of the room and into the stairwell. Justice waited for precisely two seconds once they were out of view and followed them.

His vows were to Elissa, no matter what Nathaniel claimed. She was the one who had his loyalty, not the Wardens.

It the men noticed his presence as he trailed after them, they did not acknowledge it. They dismissed the soldier at the door to her rooms, presumably because of the risk of eavesdropping, and closed the door sharply behind them. Justice stood halfway down the hallway, staring, debating what exactly he should do next.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down to see Sigrun standing beside him, a serious expression on her face. She didn’t say a word, simply held up a tiny sliver of metal that he recognised as one of her lock picks.

“Are you suggesting…?”

Sigrun shrugged. “She needs a friend in there; Stones know, she hasn’t had one this past week. And I figure you or me are the closest thing she has to friends around here. Maybe Oghren, but he’s a sleaze. She trusts you.”

He thought of her last words back in the empty warehouse, before she had passed out. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Well then, trust _me_ : if there’s anyone that should be in there, it’s you. She needs you.”

Justice stared at her for a moment or two, his desire to help Elissa warring with his sense of rightness. He had been forbidden to enter, and breaking through the lock was a dishonest action. But leaving Elissa alone when he had sworn to help her was surely the greater crime…

He nodded once, and Sigrun slipped down the hallway on silent feet. She had the door unlocked in a matter of moments, and after checking that the way was clear, eased it open enough for him to slip inside. 

The main room was empty, and the air was thick with pain and anguish. It set him on edge; the heartache and desperation was so very tangible. There were papers on the floor, and ink spilled on the desk. A knife lay in the puddle, the dark blue staining the blade; he recognised it as the blade she had purchased so recently in Amaranthine, the one she had proudly showed off with for the children of the city. 

It made him uncomfortable, to see an item she had been so excited about previously, discarded with such lack of care. He paused beside the desk and removed it from the ink, wiping it carefully against his pants. The blade was still faintly blue, and would probably need a vigorous clean to remove the stain entirely. He set it down carefully on the desk, well away from the dark liquid.

There were voices in the next room, and he turned towards the door, still slightly ajar. The voices were hushed, angry, and he had to strain to hear them without alerting them to his presence.

“… don’t have the luxury of acting like a child anymore-”

“The _what?_ Fergus, I have never had the luxury of _anything-_ ”

“That’s a _lie_ and you mock our parents’ memories for even suggesting it! _Maker’s Breath_ , Lis, you are such a selfish _brat-_ ”

“I’m sure that sort of language is not necessary, Fergus,” Alistair said mildly.

“Forgive me, your majesty, but what Lis needs right now is some common sense drilled into her. This melodrama of hers demeans herself, us _and_ the Wardens.”

“Leave me _alone_ , Fergus.”

“What? So you can wallow in misery until you try to kill yourself again?”

Justice had heard enough. 

“It is _not_ your place to stand in judgement of her!” he snarled, shoving his way into the bed chamber. The tableau that greeted him was displeasing, to say the least. Elissa sat in the centre of the bed, her hair unkempt and her features pale and gaunt. She had her knees clutched to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as if she was hugging them to her. Her arms bore bandages from wrist to elbow, and she looked… small. Weak. An air of defeat hung around her, and for the brief moment that her eyes met his, there was nothing but shame in her gaze. No relief at his appearance. No joy.

Only shame.

“Maker’s Breath, Justice,” Nathaniel said, cursing under his breath. He stood by the window with the King, the two of them clearly uncomfortable in one another’s presence.

Fergus was standing beside the bed, his face drawn and tight with anger. “Not my place?” he snapped. “ _Not my place?_ When she has stood as judge and executioner for half the population of Ferelden without repercussion? When the Wardens give her free reign to run an entire province into the ground without a care for the lives she is destroying? Who is going to stand in judgement of her, when she refuses to act like an adult and acknowledge the responsibilities she has?”

“I don’t _want_ those responsibilities,” she moaned, burying her face on top of her knees.

“Do not stand in judgement of her actions,” Justice said icily, “when it is by her strength alone that your world remains free of Blight.” 

“That doesn’t matter when she insists on acting so selfishly and so childishly-”

Elissa interrupted him. “So, what, it’s not enough that I saved the world,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s not enough that I was dragged from home and recruited against my will, or that I have no one when the nightmares come-”

Fergus threw his hands up in frustration. “ _Maker_ , Elissa, spare us the _melodrama_.”

“It’s not enough that everyone ignored me when I said I didn’t want to do this anymore,” she said, and she was clearly crying now, “and you know what? I don’t want to do this. I don’t _want_ to be a hero. I don’t _want_ to be an Arlessa. I don’t want the responsibilities and the pressure and the-”

“That’s unfortunate, Elissa, because it’s not really something you get a say in. You were born to nobility, and it is your duty to serve the people.”

“I don’t want to serve them! I don’t want nobility!”

“Well, why don’t we just go and tell our noble parents that? Oh, wait, we can’t, because they’re dead-”

“ _Don’t you think I know that?_ ” she screeched, rising up onto her knees to face him. “I was _there_ , Fergus, I watched it happen! And I wish I _had_ died! I wish I had died instead of all of them!”

Her words held such poison, such anger and loathing and hate, that it shocked them all into silence. Fergus stared at her, his jaw clenched as his eyes glittered with angry, unshed tears; Elissa held his gaze for a few seconds, her own tears slipping freely down her face, before the fight went out of her and she slumped back down again, her shoulders drooping and her head falling forward onto her chest. Alistair and Fergus looked like they would rather be anywhere in the world but that room, and Justice wished they would leave. These men, however good their intentions towards her, were only causing her more pain; he wanted them gone.

“Elissa,” Justice said, trying to catch her eye.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, her fingers twisting tightly into the rumpled bed sheets. “ _Don’t._ ”

He doubted he had ever heard a more heartfelt plea from her.

As he stood there awkwardly, debating what to do, he became aware of a commotion in the hallway. He was not the only one to notice it: the sounds of several people jostling about and shouting, drawing closer quickly. The men in the room looked to one another, and Elissa stared determinedly at the bed.

Nathaniel took a few steps towards the door. “I might just-”

The door burst open before he could finish, Varel in the lead and closely followed by several others. 

The King stepped forward. “I say, is there a reason for this interruption?”

Varel bowed quickly to him, but then directed his attention solely to Elissa, even though she ignored him. “Your Majesty, Commander, there has been-”

“Commander!” A soldier burst past him, wild eyed and filthy. The hint of smoke followed him into the room. “Amaranthine is under attack! Darkspawn have taken the city!” 

“ _What?_ ” Alistair responded instantly, shoving past Fergus to stand in front of the soldier. “Report- how has this happened?”

“They’ve an army, and some of them talk! The city was holding the siege when I left, but it weren’t going to hold much longer.” He was blathering, near to hysterical. “They were monsters, a horde of ‘em, all seething up against the walls and the screams, Maker the _screams_ -”

Alistair put his hands on the man’s shoulders, trying to make him focus. “How long ago did you leave the city? How many darkspawn were there?”

“What? Oh, a few hours at the most, not even a day, and forgive me sire, but I didn’t stop to count them. I ran the whole way.”

“Right,” Alistair said, turning back to the room. “We’ll send to Denerim for the army stationed at Fort Drakon, have them come north immediately. In the meantime, we mobilise the troops here and-”

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” Elissa said coldly from the bed, “but this is my Keep, and I call the shots around here.”

Her sudden proclamation met with a moment of confusion, before Alistair said “Maker’s Breath, Elissa, we don’t have time to debate rank right now! Your city is under siege!”

“Precisely,” she said, climbing off the bed. She staggered slightly, her legs threatening to give way. Justice discretely stepped up beside her and she latched onto him for balance. “ _My_ city. And we don’t have time for any of that crap you were talking about, we have to move now if we’re going to save anyone.”

Fergus scoffed disbelievingly. “So you’re just going to ride off to save the day, you and your tiny pack of Wardens?”

“Yes,’ she said simply. Now that she was standing, it was even more obvious how greatly she had suffered over the last week. She had lost a great deal of weight, and she wobbled on her feet even while using Justice as a leaning post. Her clothes were rumpled and had the odd stain or two- she looked like a wreck. “Justice, hand me my bracers, will you?”

Without questioning, he took the leather bracers and helped her tie them over the bandages on her arms. He didn’t ask her about the bandages on her arms. 

“Elissa, what you’re doing is suicide.”

Concentrating on fastening the clasps on her arms, she simply rolled her eyes at her brother’s statement. “Varel, please fetch Anders and Oghren. I need them prepped and ready to head for Amaranthine immediately.”

Without questioning, Varel bowed quickly and ducked from the room. 

She had that effect on people, it seemed.

“Justice, you and I are going to head for Amaranthine. Nathaniel, you and Varel are to mobilise the rest of the Keep, get them ready to head out as soon as possible to support us.”

“You should just wait-” Fergus began.

“Wrong,” she said, cutting him off. On treacherous legs she wobbled across the room to her cabinet and began to tug on pieces of more appropriate items of clothing than the ones she wore. It didn’t seem to faze her that there were a number of other people in the room with her as she changed. “If we wait, people die. I’ve fought these bastards for months. We move _now_. Reinforcements can follow later.”

“Elissa,” Alistair said tiredly.

“Get back to Denerim, your Majesty,” she said coldly, not even looking at him. “We’ve got the situation well in hand.”

“This is ridiculous,” Fergus snapped. “Two minutes ago you were snivelling in bed like a five year old and now you think you’re just going to-”

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” she said, shrugging on a leather jerkin. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, Fergus- I have a city to save.”

Head held high, she limped out of the room.


	17. Q is for Quixotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quixotic [noun]: extravagantly chivalrous or romantic, past point of reason; visionary, impractical and impracticable; impulsive and rashly unpredictable; [adjective]: preoccupied with an unrealistically optimistic or chivalrous approach to life, impractically idealistic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for allusions to attempted suicide, suicidal ideation, mania and depression,

There was madness in the Keep as they made their way towards the courtyard. Varel had gone down ahead of them and was speaking with Woolsey; Captain Garevel was already shouting orders to the soldiers dashing about, like demons flocking to a dreamer. News had spread quickly of the attack, and there was not a moment to be wasted if they were to save the people trapped in the city. 

Justice, for all that so much of his energy had been wrapped up in concern over Elissa for the last week or so, found that he walked with a bounce in his step, an eager fire building within him at the prospect of battle. This was what he had sworn to do- fight the darkspawn in glorious combat, to cleave through their ranks and leave them scattered and confused so that they would no longer be a threat to the people of Ferelden. 

Never again would wardens fall unmourned in the dark corners of the land- never again would a wife grieve for the husband who would not return for her. This much he owed to Kristoff, and this was what he had pledged to Aura. 

This was the vow he had made to Elissa, to stand by her side and stand against the darkness. Together, united in a common goal. 

He would bring justice to the people of Amaranthine. And it felt glorious to do so. 

He realised he had outpaced the others, reaching the main doors to the Keep well in advance of them; in his enthusiasm he had stormed ahead, ready to face the hordes by himself.

Elissa was coming at a slower pace, her face pinched tight with anger and exhaustion. Alistair and Nathaniel were both trying to talk to her as she walked, and despite her obvious distress, she pointedly rolled her eyes at them both. 

She walked with a slight limp, and was noticeably thinner; her armour, well fitting a week ago, hung loose in places now. But she had her daggers strapped to her hips, and her hair was tied back from her face, and she wore an expression that would have made lesser men cringe in terror. 

Justice comforted himself with the knowledge that he was not a man, and neither was her ire directed at him. 

As she approached she made a loud noise of derision and waved her hand dismissively. “Alistair, kindly shut up and go back to Denerim. I’ve got this under control.”

“While I might have sat by and allowed your stupidity a year ago, Elissa, I’ll not stand idly by while-”

“Your objections are noted, and I don’t think anyone would _dare_ to suggest you’d been _idle_ these past twelve months.” The sarcasm in her words was punctuated by the way she patted him with mocking affection on the stomach, leaving him gobsmacked in her wake as she continued forward. 

Fergus, however, kept pace. 

“Elissa,” he began, his face tight with anger, “you are being irrational.”

“Funny, here I was thinking that I was being efficient. Go away, Fergus.”

“Now is not the time to go running off to your doom, all hyped up on bravado and defiance. You are ill, and in no fit state to-”

“You are in no way fit to judge my fitness to lead.”

“I am your brother, and I think I’d know a thing or two about your health given that I practically raised you.”

“Oh Maker, Fergus, not only did you have _nothing_ to do with my upbringing, I also outrank you,” she snarled, her face twisted in an aggressive sneer.

“I am a _Teyrn_ , you stupid little girl, and you-”

“And I am Commander of the Grey and Hero of the Fifth Blight and Arlessa of a region just as big as Highever,” she snapped, tugging on her gloves by the door. “You slept through the Blight and got a title as an afterthought. Shut up and get out of my castle.” 

She quite pointedly walked away from them, heading out into the yard with shoulders held high. 

The yard was a riot of activity, just as bad as the main hall. Dworkin was shouting gleefully from the forge, directing his assistants with mad delight; Wade was lamenting loudly the disruption to his smithing to anyone who was foolish enough to stop and listen. Soldiers ran about hurriedly, carrying weapons and armour and supplies as they readied themselves for the march to Amaranthine. 

It pleased Justice immensely to see such order and martial preparation; they were on their way to do great things, to clear the land of the scourge of darkspawn. Elissa had made all of this possible- she had united the mortals against a common threat, and she had built this fortress up from the ashes. He felt a fierce surge of pride at her accomplishments, and an intense sense of triumph at the vengeance they would wreak upon the darkspawn. 

This was a great day indeed. 

“Where’s Oghren?” she snapped, hands planted firmly on her hips as she paused in the yard. Out in the sunlight it was even more alarming to see just how greatly she had withered away in the last few weeks since the incident with the lyrium poisoning. Her cheekbones stood out starkly, her shoulders sharp beneath the linen of her shirt. Her hair, though she had tidied it, was still lank and dull- there was no errant curl lying just below her left ear. 

There were dark circles under her eyes, and he could see her hands shaking. Surely after a week of bed rest she should have recovered from a bout of poisoning? Yet there were those bandages on her arms, and the great secrecy surrounding her illness. 

“He’s passed out drunk in the mess hall,” Sigrun said, coming up behind them. She was dressed for battle, her hair pulled tightly away from her eyes and her knives strapped to her hips. “Thankfully, I happen to be available- cleared my schedule for you, just this once.”

Elissa frowned, irritation glittering in her eyes. “Fine,” she snapped, turning to Justice. “You’ll have to do the brunt of the heavy work, Justice. I apologise for that.”

“You need not fear, Commander,” he said enthusiastically. “This will be a great day for us, and a great number of the darkspawn will fall before us. Working together, we will-”

“Got it,” she said flatly, turning away from him. 

He stood there with his mouth hanging open on the half formed word, not quite sure what it was that had just happened, or what he was feeling. This business of feeling things was so wretchedly complicated, taking up so much of his concentration. He was shocked at her disinterest, to the point where he felt genuine dismay. Why on earth would he be perplexed at her response? She was under a great deal of stress, and time was of the essence.

Besides, she knew that they worked well together in the heat of battle. Standing back to back, knowing the other would protect them at all costs- she did not need him to spell it out for her. They had fought this way for many months now, after all. 

Ah, but the excitement of the impending battle had gone to his head, it seemed. Elissa had not intended to be rude, she was simply stressed. And she knew he would do his best on the field. Clearly she was just interested in not wasting any time; that had to be it. 

It didn’t quite quell the dissatisfaction that sat in the depths of him, something cold and sharp and unnameable. He had no experience with this feeling; he had no idea what it signified. But her dismissal... she had rarely been so uninterested in him. She had always turned to him with a smile, or with desperate relief in her eyes. 

He wanted that smile back on her face. 

Perhaps when the thrill of the coming battle had had time to sink beneath her skin, she would smile again. And all would be well. 

“Garevel!” she snarled at the top of her lungs, spinning to face the front doors of the keep. The captain appeared a moment later, hastening towards her while Alistair and Fergus stood silently and observed. 

“Commander?”

“I’m entrusting the defences to you while I’m gone,” she said, accepting a backpack from a servant who dashed forward. “Coordinate with Nathaniel, and have the bulk of our forces ready to move out as soon as possible. If you have to march through the night, do it.”

“How many should we leave to defend-”

“I don’t give a shit, I don’t know anything about numbers,” she said dismissively. “Talk to Varel and Nate and work something out.” 

His lips twisted angrily. “Very well, Commander,” he said flatly. “We will see it done.”

“Course you will,” she said, already turning away. “Alright then- Anders, Sigrun, Justice, to me! Let’s go kill some darkspawn.”

Sigrun sighed happily. “You said the magic words,” she said.

A round of cheers, somewhat lacklustre, rang out as the four of them jogged through the main gates and down the road. Elissa waved wearily over her head, but she didn’t look back, and the applause faded all too quickly. 

The forest closed around them as they ran north towards Amaranthine, the afternoon sun streaking through the trees in rays of dusty gold. They hurried down the road in silence for at least five minutes before Justice became aware of Anders and Sigrun gesturing at one another with their hands, their lips moving silently as if they were holding a conversation only audible to each other. He frowned, trying to interpret their movements, and when that failed, he stepped quite pointedly between them. 

“What are you doing?” he asked loudly, looking between the two of them.

Sigrun rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath; Anders cast him a withering look. “Since you desperately need to know, Justice,” he said loudly, looking in Elissa’s direction as he spoke, “we were just discussing what it is precisely we’re doing out here, running halfway across a province. Towards darkspawn.”

Elissa very pointedly did not answer him. 

“What’s the plan, Elissa?” Anders called, exchanging loaded looks with Sigrun. When the Commander did not answer again, Anders made a noise of frustration. “Just gonna march up to the gates and ask politely for them to let us in?”

“Sounds about right,” Elissa called back, her tone flat. 

“So, we’re just gonna march on into a city swarming with monsters? Death by darkspawn? Is that it?”

“Got a problem with that?”

“Well, yes actually! Maybe you’re not so bothered by the idea, but the rest of us aren’t so keen to go charging off into death-”

“Justice is already dead, and Sigrun has been prepared to die ever since she joined the Legion, so I’d say you’re the only one with a problem here, Anders,” she said, her voice so cold that Justice stopped in his tracks for a moment. This was not the woman he had dedicated his strength to. There was an utter lack of life in her, none of the joy or angry mischief or wry sarcasm that he had come to expect from her. Elissa was a mortal of wild passions, emotions that baffled and amused him in their extremes.

The woman stalking ahead of them was empty, devoid of such potencies. What had happened to her, in those days locked alone in her room? How could something as simple as an overdose of lyrium cause such dire changes in a mortal whose very joy for life had given him purpose?

Anders had apparently elected not to challenge her further, but the disgust was plain on his face. 

So instead they followed Elissa, the miles passing silently beneath them as they hastened towards Amaranthine. They passed a group of refugees after the first hour, hysterical and desperate, their clothes stained with soot and blood. Elissa addressed them as coldly as she had Anders, directing them to the Keep and offering them little in the way of comfort. 

It was not long after that it began to be apparent that something was amiss with Elissa. Her limp had grown more pronounced, and her gait was uneven; if anything, she was weaving every few steps. When she noticeably stumbled, Anders and Justice were at her side in a heartbeat, each reaching for an arm to keep her stable. 

She waved her hand at them in irritation. “I’m fine,” she panted, “I just need to get my breath back.”

“You look more like a corpse than Justice does,” Sigrun said pointedly, shrugging when Elissa glared at her. “What? It’s true.”

Straightening, her face pale, Elissa rolled her eyes. “Come on, we can’t stand around here all day,” she said tersely. “We have to get to the city before night falls- I don’t fancy trying to fight those bastards in the dark.”

They continued down the road for another few minutes, and it was clear that Elissa was lagging behind the rest of them. 

Anders was scowling as he jogged back to her. “Elissa, this is ridiculous, you’re in no fit state to be doing this.”

She was bent double, her hands planted on her knees for balance as she wheezed and gasped. “Shall I just send the darkspawn a note, ask them to wait for a day or two?” she managed. 

“Well, these ones can talk, so you never know- maybe they’ll just pop down to the Crown and Lion for a drink while they wait.”

She cast him a dark look. “You’re a funny man, Anders.”

“I do my best. But Elissa, seriously-”

“No buts. We’ve got a job to do, we’ll get it done.”

“You can barely _walk_ , let alone fight your way through a city of fiends. You won’t even make it to Amaranthine at this point-”

The withering look on her face even made Justice glance away uncomfortably. “So I should just sit by the side of the road and admire the flowers and the view while people die?”

“Stop interrupting me!” Anders was pacing, his hands moving expressively, his face fixed into a scowl as twisted and violent as her own. “You should be back at the Keep in bed, not sprinting into battle. You nearly _died_ , Elissa, and your body can’t handle this sort of stress!”

Justice felt a surge of panic at the reminder, laid out so bluntly, and looked to Elissa. There was something there in her face, something that could have been grief and could have been shame and could have been anger, but he did not know the right word for it and did not know if there was even a word to express the chaos in her eyes. 

“I shall carry her,” he found himself saying. “She can conserve her strength for the battle ahead.”

His offer was met with silence, and when Elissa finally looked at him, the seething poison in her eyes was so fierce that he actually took a step back in alarm. 

“Justice,” she said softly, “please take your overenthusiastic quixoticism and kindly _fuck off_.”

Sigrun made an affronted noise. “Hey now, boss, that’s not really-”

“Any of _your_ business,” Elissa finished for her, not taking her eyes off Justice as she held her hand out to block Sigrun from continuing. 

“Elissa,” he began, unsettled by the violence in her tone.

“What’s wrong Justice?” she said mockingly, her eyes bleak but her lips twisted into a sneer as she approached him. “Confused? Dismayed that I’m not your perfect little champion, feeding orphans and defending widows and slaying villains and being a generally impossible beacon of hope and goodness?”

“Elissa, this is not you,” he said, facing her sternly. 

“ _How would you fucking know?_ ” she screeched, her face suddenly twisted and ugly as she lunged forward, stabbing her finger into the centre of his chest. “You’ve known me- what? All of three or four months? How the fuck would you know what I’m like?”

“You are exhausted and uncertain. Allow me to assist you to the city, and then we will do away with the darkspawn and deal with the survivors, and then we will see to it that you are well rested.”

“Maybe I don’t _want_ to be well rested,” she hissed, her eyes dark with violent emotion and bright with the beginning of tears. She gestured wildly, her hands like weapons that seemed determined to turn against her. “Maybe I feel most alive when I’m like this, maybe this is really me at-”

“ _Elissa_ ,” he said fiercely, taking hold of her arm. “I do not know what you hope to achieve here, but I suggest you save such fervour for the darkspawn. You will only hurt yourself.”

“I already _have_ , Justice,” she spat, thrusting her other arm out towards him, wrist upwards, “you _stupid_ , naive spirit. So what’s a little more, huh?”

Understanding finally crashed over him, too many days too late, horror and revulsion and desperate denial leaving him reeling. 

“And instead I’m standing and arguing with a dead thing on the road in the middle of nowhere, because I don’t want to keep walking and deal with an entire city overrun with the things that already give me nightmares,” she continued shrilly, tears on her face. “But I couldn’t stay back in that castle and let other people direct my life for me and treat me like I was a child, so I guess at this point I’m back to suicide by darkspawn, because at least people are willing to let me do _that_.”

“It will not be suicide, Elissa,” he said earnestly, desperate to ignore the truth she had revealed to him just now. “We will triumph over these creatures, for our cause is true and good and just.”

Her hands went to her head, her fingers digging into her hair. “The world doesn’t _work_ that way, Justice! Maybe in the world you come from, there are strict divisions for good and for evil and there’s no grey in between but out here there is nothing but grey. This is a world where I’m a coward and a degenerate if I take my life on my own terms, but I’m a hero and someone to aspire to be if I end my life on a darkspawn sword, bloodied and broken and alone.”

“But you do not have to die, Elissa,” he said, confused by her relentless obsession with her own death.

The woman who stared back at him, tears on her face and eyes as dark as pitch was not the woman he revered. “Do not speak to me of a fear of death until you have known what it is to fear living,” she whispered.

Anders and Sigrun looked as if they would rather be anywhere in the world than on the dusty road to Amaranthine; when Elissa spun about to face them, they both flinched and hastily looked away.

She began to limp down the road, her head held high; after a moment the two Wardens fell in behind her, glancing back awkwardly at Justice as they did. A moment or two later, and he reluctantly began to follow. 

The rest of the trip passed in silence.


	18. R is for Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regret [noun]: a sense of loss, disappointment, dissatisfaction; a feeling of sorry or remorse for a fault, act, loss, event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for canon typical violence, allusions to attempted suicide

He had _everything_ wrong.

The longer he spent in the mortal realm, the more it occurred to him that he understood almost nothing about the inner workings of the creatures that dwelt here. The more he tried to grasp at the complexities of this beautiful, terrible world, the more its meaning utterly eluded him. 

It was frustratingly intricate, and horrifyingly inconsistent. 

Most of all, he feared what he was becoming, whether his every decision since he had set foot outside the Fade had been made in poor judgement. His entire being had been shaped by Elissa Cousland, peculiar mortal that she was, and it was only now that he began to realise that such unfailing dedication on his part might have been misplaced.

But he was not ever a creature of half measures, and his greatest mistake was to assume the same of the mortals.

He had given his all to Elissa, and to her cause, and instead of gratitude she lashed out in violence and anger; he had elected to follow her, and she had left him adrift and confused. He had dared to assume she was an ally- a friend, even, if he understood the nature of friendship correctly- and he had hoped that he meant as much to her. 

Hope- what a foolish thing it was. How painful it was, to know that all of one’s faith meant so little to the individual it had been offered to. 

She had given him so much in the last few months, opened his eyes to the wonders of this world in ways he had never believed possible. He was a spirit, after all, single minded in his purpose- dreaming had never been a part of who or what he was. But with Elissa by his side, he had dared to dream that... well, he had dared to dream of many things- of what he might accomplish here, of what tomorrow might hold, _of her_. That he felt longings for a tomorrow that had nothing to do with the pursuit of justice showed just how deep her influence ran.

A small and fragile mortal, a creature with a limited life span, who would eventually be taken from him no matter what he did. She would be confined to the places beyond the Fade, beyond his home, and he would be trapped in her realm without her. 

It was only a marginally worse fate than fading to dust, formless and helpless and forgotten.

There was a glow in the sky in the direction of Amaranthine, and the setting sun was a deep and ominous red- from the smoke, Anders told him in hushed tones. As they drew closer to the coast they encountered more and more refugees, fleeing desperately away from the monsters. There were tears and screams of panicked grief, and the desperation they showed when they begged Elissa to save their homes and their families was like being buffeted by a storm of immense emotion. Elissa’s face was like stone through it all, unmoved by their pleas for individual aid, and for the first time Justice began to understand- if the emotion was too much even for him, in his limited ability, and with most avoiding him in alarm, he had no idea how bad it must have been for her.

“Head for the Vigil,” Elissa said flatly, her voice lifting above the noise of the crowd. She did not make eye contact with any of them; she kept walking forward, the crowd parting for her. “The king’s army will keep you safe-”

“Is the king’s army here to clean up all of your mess?”

At the shrill shout, Elissa paused, and looked towards the source of the disturbance. A man on the edge of the crowd slunk towards her, a slash across his temple leaving blood dripping down his face. 

“You wardens dragged them to our door,” the man snarled, advancing on her with a wildness in his eyes that alarmed a great many people, if the way the crowd skittered away from him was anything to go on. “ _The Blight’s over_ , they say; _all’s well_ , they say- but our city burns, and our children lie dead in the streets because this ill-bred bitch all but invited them-”

Justice moved forward to intercept him, but Anders moved quicker. Before any of them could caution him otherwise, he lifted his staff and smashed him over the back of the head. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as he slumped to the ground, everyone lurching out of the way, and then Anders straightened, breathing heavily.

“She’s right, you know,” he said to the refugees. “Head to the Vigil- it’s your best chance at the moment.”

For a moment the mood turned uneasy, sliding towards something ugly. Justice could feel the anger and the sorrow, the hint of darker emotions lurking underneath, and he shifted closer to Elissa, hand on the pommel of his sword. 

And then the moment passed, like a weight lifting from his shoulders, and the bulk of the group began to move again, back down the road towards the Vigil. Elissa still hadn’t moved, watching Anders with an unreadable expression on her face. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally, her tone revealing nothing. 

He shrugged awkwardly, rubbing at his shoulder as if it pained him. “I don’t have to do a lot of things,” he said. “Doesn’t mean that I can just stick my head in the sand and pretend the choice isn’t there for me.”

Something about that statement seemed remarkably poignant, and Justice frowned. It resonated with him, but for reasons he couldn’t say. 

Elissa turned back towards the road. “We’ve got less than an hour’s daylight left,” she said dully. “We need to move.”

The numbers of the refugees had begun to thin, and all of them knew that to be a sign of the devastation they would soon be facing. Around them, there were more and more bodies piled up by the roadside, and some among them were darkspawn. When Sigrun groaned loudly, Justice glanced over at her- she had a hand to her stomach, a grimace on her face. 

“There’s a lot of them,” she said at his unspoken question.

“I haven’t felt this many since the Battle of Denerim,” Elissa said, her words so quiet that they were almost swallowed up by the distant rumble of the attack. 

What she didn’t need to point out to any of them was that the Battle of Denerim had cost thousands of people their lives, and that of the three wardens who went into that battleground, only one had come out. That the wardens had had the backing of the combined might of multiple armies and allies, and even then the cost had been catastrophic. 

There were only three wardens now, and one increasingly wayward spirit who grew more removed from his purpose with each passing day. None of them said it aloud, but he knew what it was they were thinking- that they would die here. A month ago, a week ago, he would have thought that to be the greatest honour available- to die in the pursuit of a safe and righteous world. 

Now, however...

They came around the last hill before they began their descent to the coast, and they all staggered a step or two in horror as they took in the scene before them. Amaranthine, Jewel of the North, was no more. The city was all but lost- even from this distance, he could see the extent of the damage, the burnt and ruined shells of buildings, the blackened stains upon the brickwork, the smoke that clogged the air. There was a cacophony of noise, a roar that seemed almost alive in it’s violence, the screams of the trapped and dying merging with the triumphant howls of the darkspawn.

It only grew worse as they drew closer. 

The city gates were hanging wide open, almost painfully askew and the metal blackened from the heat of the ravaging fires. There were scratches in the metal, wide gouges that spoke of the violence that had been inflicted on the fortifications by the rampaging darkspawn. 

And there were darkspawn there as well.

Elissa snarled violently, the weariness on her face melting away instantly as she drew her daggers. “To arms!” she shouted, picking up speed as she raced towards the gate. For a moment, Justice felt a surge of triumphant purpose, a wave of relief washing over him at the validation of his being. He was Justice, and he would judge these creatures for the death they had wrought upon the innocents of Amaranthine. 

And then the battle was joined, the four of them plowing into the lines of the creatures to great effect. There were howls of fury and pain as he swung his greatsword in an arc, while Elissa and Sigrun darted through in his wake, slicing and stabbing as the darkspawn struggled to recover their balance from his initial attack. Anders kept them corralled, herding them back towards the wall where they had no chance to escape from them. 

There were dozens of the brutes, and it seemed there would be no end to them, until a blade pierced the chest of a darkspawn in front of him; the creature gurgled in surprise, looking at the tip protruding from its armour, and then slumped forward onto the ground. In its place stood a familiar looking human, haggard and wild eyed, wearing the armour of Amaranthine. 

And he was not alone- there were a handful of other men and women with him, all bloodied and battered, all clutching their weapons with a ferocity that bordered on hysterical, and all lunging into the fray without any concern for their personal safety. With their assistance, they quickly dispatched the last of the group, and Elissa wiped the gore from her blades onto her breeches as she turned to face the leader. 

“Aidan?”

“Commander?” the guard captain said incredulously, the hopelessness in his face melting into desperate hope so powerful that Elissa winced and looked away. “Commander! We didn’t think you were coming! How far behind is the army?” 

“Hopefully less than a day, but...”

“But that will be far too late,” he said, the hope draining out of him visibly. He closed his eyes as if in pain, jaw clenched as he fought to get himself under control. 

Elissa took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Aidan,” she said awkwardly. “How long has it...?”

“Last night, they came last night,” he said, wiping sweat soaked hair from his forehead and leaving a streak of unpleasantly dark blood in its place. 

“Damn, and you managed to keep that many people alive?” Sigrun said, whistling in appreciation. “You guys are practically wardens yourselves.”

Aidan smiled wearily, though his heart didn’t appear to be in it. “I am grateful for your arrival- please do not mistake that,” he said, looking desperately to Elissa. “We are in need of direction on how to defeat these creatures.”

Elissa looked _miserable_. “Keep stabbing them until one of them gets you in the gut, or until you fall down in exhaustion,” she said, attempting flippancy but her humour fell flat. 

He hesitated, clearly unsure of how to take her mood, and then pressed onwards. “The alienage was the first to fall, given their lack of defensive fortifications, and the harbour is also lost. We’ve held the Chantry for now, but we _need_ direction, Commander.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead, eyes closed tight; her face was drawn and pinched, and her other hand was on her stomach as if she were about to be ill.

“Commander!” The constable sounded mildly hysterical, and understandably so- if he was the most senior surviving officer in the city, surely it would be a desperate relief to see a woman of Elissa’s calibre arrive to take over command. “What are your orders?”

“I’m _thinking!_ ” she snarled, the hand at her head digging sharply into her hairline. 

“Someone approaches!” yelled one of the city soldiers, lifting his bow to point in the direction of the road. He was so exhausted that he could not hold his aim, hands shaking so badly that he couldn’t keep the arrow notched correctly. 

As the figure approached, the three wardens snarled in unison. “Andraste’s flaming knickers, these guys just don’t _quit_ , do they?” Anders said, lifting his staff to point towards the darkspawn walking towards them.

Justice realised his meaning a moment later, when the darkspawn- for he realised now that’s what it was- stopped twenty paces away, holding out his hands in entreaty.

“Is this any way to treat one who would come to warn you of your impending doom?” the darkspawn called, walking backwards and forwards across the road as if he had no care for the mage and the archer following his movements. “Commander, I am surprised at your discourtesy.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Elissa snarled, taking several steps in his direction before reining herself in. She struggled quite visibly to remain calm. “If you’re meaning to warn us, you may have noticed that you’re at least a day late.”

“I do not bring news of the city, Commander. I bring news of your home- of the Vigil.”

Everybody froze, the implications of the creature’s words sinking in. Elissa had gone disturbingly pale. “You _lie_ ,” she hissed, clenching her hands into fists at her sides.

“I have no reason to. The Mother’s children march upon the Vigil- even now, it may be too late.”

Elissa did not answer him, instead staring stonily ahead.

“Commander, I suggest you do not delay,” the creature said sibilantly, his voice enough to have Justice tightening his grip on the sword belted at his waist. It was a voice that conjured up images of rot and darkness and treachery, and that in itself was a surprise- he was not prone to elaborate imaginings, in any capacity. This was but another of her small touches, broadening his mind beyond the bonds of the Fade. “The Mother is cruel and wonderful, and her children adore her- they will not cease until your Vigil has been razed to the ground, if only to please her.”

“Oh my gods, I really preferred you assholes when you didn’t talk,” Elissa said, making a show of putting her fingers in her ears. “Maker spare me from any more of your mysterious villain monologue bullshit.” 

The creature hissed in displeasure. “Do not make light of my warnings, Commander,” he growled. “The fate of many rests upon you-”

“Oh, wow, do you think I hadn’t realised that? Thank you for your remarkable input, I’m _so_ glad darkspawn learned how to talk so that you could parrot the exact same bullshit at me I’ve heard from everyone else for the last two years!”

It drew itself up as if insulted. “I have delivered my warning,” it said. “It is yours to make of it what you will.”

The creature turned and began loping down the road again, its gait nauseating to watch. Justice turned to Elissa, eager to know of her battle plans, but she was not watching. Her eyes were closed tight, and there were tears on her cheeks. 

“Anders,” she rasped, not looking to see if he had heard her, “kill him.”

Justice felt he owed it to her to stand as witness to the death- to shoot an opponent in the back when he was fleeing the field, without having acted in aggression, was a cowardly thing to do. But he understood now that there were variants to consider, and that sometimes terrible decisions were the only right thing to do in a terrible situation. 

Anders summoned his power, lifting his staff towards the sky to act as a focus point. Justice leaned in a little closer, feeling the whispers of the Fade as he drew upon the potential in the beyond. And then there was a crackle of thunder, and a single lightning bolt speared out of the smoky sky to strike the messenger as he fled. 

The thunder bounced back and forth between the hills, rumbling away slowly to nothing, and the hooded messenger fell to the ground in the centre of the road. 

And in the aftermath, Elissa kept her eyes closed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Aidan was the first to speak. “Commander, you _cannot_ leave us,” he said urgently, stepping up to her side as if he meant to grab her by the arm. He rethought his action at the last moment and kept his hands stiff at his sides. “There may still be people alive in some of the inner sections of the city!”

She opened bloodshot eyes, her expression anguished. “Aidan...” she began, and got no further.

“You cannot be seriously considering it- we need to go back!” Anders said quickly. “The city is already lost, and we’ve sent hundreds of refugees back towards the Keep. We’ve taken them out of the frying pan and put them into the fire- we owe it to them to-”

“I’m aware of that, Anders,” she said, her face pale and her eyes angry. 

“There’s not enough room for that many refugees within the walls, and some of them will probably still be out in the open when the darkspawn attack-”

“I’m aware of that, Anders,” she said again, louder this time.

He continued on, either blithely unaware of the anguish he was causing or determined to make his point. “And on top of that, the king was still at the keep when we left- if the darkspawn break through and kill him, we’ll-”

She quite visibly snapped, lunging into his space and stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “Oh, you don’t think I’m considering the fact that I might possibly have put the king in mortal danger? That I might have two Theirin kings on my conscience? Because no, _gosh_ Anders, _that hadn’t occurred to me at all!_ ”

Anders opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it, clenching his jaw instead and looking away. 

Elissa stared at him for a moment longer, breathing heavily, and then subsided. She dug her hands into her hair again and whimpered, the sound desperate. Justice wanted to reach for her, but he had no idea what comfort he could offer her. 

“They can’t get in through the basement,” she said, wild eyed as she babbled aloud; she was clearly rationalising it to herself, rather than directing her speech to anyone in particular. “Dworkin assured me the door would last at least a decade’s worth of siege, so they won’t have to worry about a secondary attack, as long as there’s no tunnels or excavations we missed.”

“Dwarves don’t just _miss_ tunnels,” Sigrun muttered off to the side, clearly offended. Anders hurriedly shushed her.

Elissa ignored them both, counting off on her fingers. “The internal repairs weren’t completed, but the external walls were reinforced weeks ago,” she said. She looked haggard, tormented. “As long as they can hold the walls, it doesn’t matter if some of the battlements are still mostly rubble, right?”

How to comfort her, how to help her with this grievous decision? No matter what she did, innocent people were going to die- clearly saving the civilians in the city was of the utmost importance, but if the Keep was lost... what good was it to take the city, if a triumphant force were to attack them from behind, fresh from bloody victories over the other Wardens? There would be no reinforcements for them, no hope of a late rally from the rear, no safe place to retreat to. 

And they had innocents within the walls of the Keep, for sure- the families of the soldiers that Elissa had taken in, much to the chagrin of Mistress Woolsey and her impeccable bookkeeping. The refugees who had fled from this battle, hoping to find safety within the walls of the Vigil, only for it to turn upon them as a trap. 

How was one to decide? When faced with such a horrifying choice, knowing that death would weigh upon you regardless of what you did, how did you measure the value of one life over another? Of a thousand lives over another thousand? 

It hit him then, a crippling horrifying realisation, that there was no such thing as a true and just victory. Would a triumph here in Amaranthine bring closure to those who died on the walls of Vigil’s Keep, desperately awaiting the return of their commander? Would a return to the Vigil bring solace to the slaughtered innocents left to fend for themselves in the streets of the city? 

She took a deep and shaky breath, trying to wipe away the tears as fast as they fell. “We remain here,” she said, her voice cracking on the word _here_. “And I will brook no arguments about my decision.”

She didn’t look at Anders, but she didn’t need to. 

Aidan let out a desperate sound of relief. “Thank you Commander, thank you, I’ll rally what troops remain and we will-”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Just- just go and do it. Please.” She walked away from him, over towards the wall, and Justice followed her, reaching out to steady her when she stumbled. Her fingers touched his, just for a moment, and it was the first time she had allowed him to touch her in some time; when she lingered, clinging to his hand as if drawing strength from it, he felt something in him surge with relief.

Elissa gestured to the wardens to draw closer, and the three of them gathered before her; she was staring rather intently off to the left, as if she couldn’t bear to look at them, and there were still tears on her cheeks. 

“Okay, so...” She trailed off, struggling visibly to get a hold of herself. “I’ve never been good at this inspirational pre-battle talk, despite what the stories say.”

She took a shaky breath, and another tear slid down her cheek. “It’s very likely that we’ll be dead before sunrise, and I’ll not hold it against any of you if you want to turn around and run down the road with the refugees. Maker knows, there’s nothing I’d like more right now.”

“Ain’t anywhere I’d rather be, boss,” Sigrun said quietly, thumb rubbing over the hilt of her dagger. “Reckon I’ve got a few more throats to cut for the sake of the boys.”

“I suppose it’s too late to vote we all snag a boat and head north, find a nice Antivan beach to lounge around on?” Anders’ smile was only half hearted, and even he didn’t laugh at his joke; instead after a moment he sighed nervously. “Like I’m walking away now, Lis.”

Justice considered his words carefully, and clearly his momentary silence was enough to panic her; Elissa glanced him, desperation in her eyes, and for a long moment the two of them stared at each other. 

There was so much unsaid between them- so many things she did not have the capacity to express to him, so many things that he did not possess the understanding to comprehend. So many lost moments, so many missed opportunities. 

She had altered his very being, and he had allowed it. Revelled in it, he realised, for he was now so much more than he had been because of her. 

“I have no regrets about the road that led us to this point, Elissa,” he said solemnly. Her lip quivered and she bit down on it fiercely. “I will follow you wherever you command.”

She reached out and took his hand again, and he knew he would follow her anywhere. 

“Let’s go kill some darkspawn then,” she whispered, and she smiled.


	19. S is for Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siege [noun]: the act or process of surrounding and attacking a fortified place in such a way as to isolate it from help and supplies, for the purpose of lessening the resistance of the defenders and thereby making capture possible; a series of troubles, annoyances or illnesses besetting a person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for allusions to attempted suicide, depression, general mental health discussion

Amaranthine burned. 

The darkspawn was an enemy he understood, an enemy he could slaughter with near reckless abandon, almost giddy in the triumphant rush of victory he felt with each foe slain. This was justice, this was what he embodied and thrived upon- to avenge the fallen innocents of the city, defend the fleeing survivors, to hack and slash and crack skulls and hew withered, wiry muscles apart, to have his sword run thick with the black sludge that ran in the veins of the beasts...

And he did not have to think about Elissa’s pain, or her earnest desire for death. He did not have to think about how deeply it hurt him to think that she might wish for such a fate- and he did not have to think about how relieved he was when she’d placed her hand in his at the gates, how the implicit forgiveness of such a gesture centred him again and renewed his focus. 

There was no time to dwell on such thoughts, such emotions that ran contrary to everything he’d believed to be true about himself, because there was only time for battle and slaughter. This was _justice_. This was his purpose, and he was near to drunk on the euphoric surge of power and potential and single-minded _purpose_. 

This was what he was, this was his will made manifest, this was his intent given direction and freedom. 

Amaranthine burned, but he burned brighter.

He was Justice, and he was _alive_.

With the aid of the besieged city guard, Elissa led the charge into the city proper, and for a time there was nothing more complicated to consider than where next to plunge his sword. The darkspawn were not interested in maintaining a siege or taking prisoners- their goal was simply destruction, nothing but death and violence and pain and malevolence and panic. The people of Amaranthine deserved to feel safe, to have defenders stand at the ready and push back the tide of evil. 

The streets closest to the gates had seen the heaviest fighting, and the flagstones were torn up and the dirt was churned to mud beneath the endless bodies and pools of blood. Defenders and darkspawn alike had dragged debris across the roadways and alleys, trying to fashion choke points and defensive nooks; it did not make for easy going as they pushed their way back through the city, house by house and block by block, trying to flush out every one of the spawn and skewer them on their blades. 

The sunlight did not last long, the last red rays blocked by the towering walls of the outer city, but the sky above them was thick with smoke, and the light of the fires bounced back down upon them, illuminating them all in murky orange light. They fought onwards into the night, street by agonising street, and it was only when Elissa staggered under the blow of a mace that she just couldn’t block fast enough, crying out when it dashed against her shoulder briefly, that the decision was made to finally fall back to the Chantry, one of the last bastions in the beleaguered city. The barracks of the city guard had stood too close to the docks and had fallen earlier that morning, they had learned, and they had not even been able to get within shouting distance of the elaborate houses of the nobles who had so cruelly mocked Elissa these last few months. 

They were, of course, heartily protected by their own private guard, the very same reserve troops that they had refused to lend in defence of the province when Elissa had asked it. He did not really feel all that bad that they had been unable to liberate them from their burning manors.

A small part of him wondered if that was hypocritical of him, a betrayal of his purpose- but he found that that part of him was a great deal smaller than it might have been before he entered the mortal world.

An even smaller part of him whispered _let them burn_.

_____

The Chantry of the Lady Redeemer had stood tall throughout the ages, a magnificent testament to the eagerness of the faithful to be parted with their coin in return for some abstract promise of eternal reward. That was how Elissa had described it, when she had first brought him to the city so many months ago, when things had been far simpler and yet far more confusing; back when she had been just another human in a seething sea of humans, and when he’d understood the function of a building but not the faith that filled it. 

It was not the first time that the Lady Redeemer had stood as a refuge and sanctuary in the event of a siege, he learned. Most recently it had housed refugees fleeing from the Blight as it rose in the south, the city’s inns and boarding houses bursting at the seams as the people of Ferelden desperately sought to leave the country through northern ports. It had served as a place of refuge for those displaced during the years of the Orlesian occupation, and during the numerous civil wars throughout the ages. It was a place of safety, for the souls of the mortals who clung to their visions of an elusive Maker, and for the weak and vulnerable who had nowhere else to turn to. 

And now it was under siege again, a lone sanctuary in a burning city, stubbornly standing against the waves of darkness.

Justice paced slowly along the centre aisle of the hall, his eyes slowly taking in the packed floor space. It was tremendously loud, the air thick with the sounds of weeping and panicked sobs, the agonized panting of those who had been pulled raw and blistered from burning buildings, and the shallow, reedy wails of those bearing sword wounds and claw marks, the flesh around such injuries puckered and black already. 

The remaining militia were few indeed, and a great many of them were badly wounded; Anders moved between the injured, his gestures jerky and uncontrolled as he worked to heal what he could, and even with his awkward understanding of human physiology and magical limitations, he knew the mage was pushing himself to a dangerous point. 

Sigrun was seated with a collection of children- whether they were orphaned or not, he did not know. They were grubby, as children were wont to be in his experience, but the singed edges to their clothing and the soot stains on their cheeks were not the marks of childish play; Sigrun had a book open in her lap, and was reading aloud to them, her hands flailing wide with extravagant gestures. He could not hear what she said over the din in the hall, but the children watched her with numb expressions, more than one of them crying, their tears leaving sticky trails down their soot blackened cheeks. 

There were a handful of Chantry sisters moving through the crowds as well, doing their best to bring calm and help to those they could; Anders was the only mage present, and his healing was needed in a thousand places at once, and the sisters stopped more than once to drape a cloth over the faces of those who had not been seen to in time. 

Aura was there, too. He had seen her assisting the militia, fetching blankets and bandages and water for those without the strength to help themselves; she had looked at him, at one point, their eyes meeting across the crowded hall. There was a cut on her chin, and a smear of blood across the top of her gown, and her hair was lopsided and in danger of falling out of its elaborate coiffure; despite that, she bore herself with dignity, a quiet strength in her, and her expression when he’d stared at her had been almost defiant, as if daring him to find fault with what she was doing.

He was not sure what to make of such an expression. 

Those with enough energy left in their body recoiled when he drew near, and more than a few spat lines of the Chant in his wake, as if to exorcise themselves of his presence. He had grown accustomed to the uneasy acceptance of the Vigil, and had never been left to mingle with the city folk in the past. Even knowing that he had fought to defend them tirelessly, they still saw something to fear, something horrifying and unholy. 

Something like a demon. 

It sat within him like a canker, miserable and unhappy- he did not want to be a demon, he did not think he was a demon (Elissa’s reassurances ran through his head like a mantra) but here and now, in a moment that should have invigorated and inspired him, he could feel his zeal slipping away, slowly battered by the relentless onslaught of their fear and suspicion. He wanted to help, he wanted to be good and righteous and strong, a stalwart defence against evil.

He wanted Elissa to tell him he was all those things and more.

The Revered Mother had offered Elissa the privacy of her quarters under great sufferance, the two of them still on poor terms given the former’s support of the city nobles against their new Arlessa. The Mother herself had taken a seat primly on the dais at the front of the hall, surveying her realm with lips pressed thin with displeasure; her eyes followed him as he made his way towards the door, and he quite pointedly met her gaze and held it, his expression unwavering.

She looked away first, quite obviously uncomfortable.

He found he quite enjoyed the petty thrill of victory he felt at besting her. 

The door was slightly ajar and he knocked quietly before entering; just because the door had not been locked did not mean that he could not adhere to basic civilities. He had worked hard to learn and maintain a certain level of decorum, especially after Oghren and Anders had taken advantage of his naivety for their own amusement. 

Elissa deserved his utmost respect, in all things.

She had her back to the door, and she did not acknowledge his knock or his entrance. She had stripped down her armour, wearing only her breeches and a band of cloth around her chest, and it struck him how very unhealthy she looked. He did not have a lot of experience with human bodies, but he knew she should not be so thin, that her bones should not stick out so sharply in places. Her skin was uneven in so many places, ridged with scars and burns and spaces rubbed raw by her armour- there was one in particular, vividly red and ugly, that covered her entire right hip and swung around onto her back. 

He did not want to know what had happened to cause her such scarring. 

She was standing by the window, a shallow basin on the table before her as she stared blankly out towards the burning city; the stained glass threw odd patterns and colours over her exposed skin, and she looked...

... not quite human. She had too many sharp angles, too many colours wrong, too much about her was not what he had been led to believe about humans at all.

But then, he was not entirely an untainted spirit anymore, was he? He was not like his brethren of the Fade any longer, perhaps in the same way that she was not like her human kin.

She seemed unaware of his presence as he drew closer, or if she had noticed his approach, she did not care. For a horrifying moment he thought that the basin before her was full of blood, and that she was performing some depraved blood magic ritual, but as he came up beside her he realised that she was simply washing away the gore of the evening’s battles, and the water had turned red as a result.

This close, he could see the scars on her wrists, still red and raised and violently fresh; he reached out and ran his finger down the line of one of them, and she shuddered, closing her eyes. 

“You wanted to die,” he said simply, less unsettled by it than he had been hours ago when the revelation had finally occurred to him. “Why?”

Her head drooped, her chin lowering towards her chest, and she didn’t open her eyes. “Because sometimes it seems like the best choice available,” she whispered.

“You have always fought death, though- I have seen you defy the odds a dozen times over, in the short time I have known you.” He could feel her trembling. “Why would you choose death over life?”

Her lip quivered, and when she opened her eyes they were full of tears. “It’s very hard, being alive, sometimes,” she said, stuttering slightly on the words. “Sometimes, it’s- I’m my own worst enemy.”

“That is not true- surely the Archdemon, if any, would have been your worst enemy, and you triumphed over it valiantly.”

She laughed once, but her face crumbled immediately after, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I wish I had your implacable faith,” she said, her voice full of a yearning that made him ache with the strength of it. “It’s like- Maker I don’t even know how to describe it to another _human_ , let alone a spirit.”

He had no way to assure her that all would be well, so he stood silently and waited for her to collect her thoughts. 

She wiped one cheek clear of tears with the back of her hand. “It’s like, okay let’s try this- I’m Thedas. And I’m made up of thousands of different contradicting thoughts and ideas- just like Thedas is made of of thousands of contradicting people, who don’t always work well together. Most of the time, everything is just... uneasy, I guess. Border wars and land squabbles, but it’s inside my head.”

“You fight about land in your head?”

Elissa made a noise of frustration. “No, shh, please let me try and finish this.” She wiped the other cheek. “So, I’m Thedas, and most of the time I’m not really at peace, but things are relatively settled. Things are bearable, and most of the time I can cope. But then, every so often, Thedas is devastated by a Blight, where the darkness surges up from the depths to destroy all the uneasy peace and balance on the surface.”

“Is this because of your darkspawn taint?”

“I’m _Thedas_ ,” she said, a little more anger in her voice now. “And there is darkness in me that would horrify and destroy even the strongest of men- and I cannot always keep it trapped within me. Sometimes... sometimes it overwhelms me.”

Justice watched her, pondering her words carefully, trying to make sense of them. “So, essentially, you are in need of a grey warden inside you to defeat that darkness.”

Elissa barked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand a moment later. “Maker’s balls, am I glad Oghren and Anders weren’t about to hear you say that,” she said, and for a moment she seemed... lighter. More like the woman he was accustomed to. But then she sobered again and the moment was gone. “But the darkness is in my head, Justice, and in my heart. I haven’t- there’s nothing or no one that can get in there and fight it.”

He pondered this. “Except for a spirit,” he said helpfully. “Although you would run the risk of possession.”

An emotion he was not familiar enough with to name flickered across her face. “Why, Justice, I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said, with enough exaggeration that he could tell she was teasing; she did not quite make eye contact with him, however. “You’ve gone and learned how to proposition a woman without my help at all.”

“How to what?”

“If you wanted to get inside of me, Justice, it’s not that hard- you should have just said something instead of stringing me along like this.”

Her meaning abruptly became clear to him, and for perhaps the first time in his existence he found himself speechless. “Elissa,” he said slowly, utterly perplexed, “I am not- that is to say, there is nothing I could-”

“It’s a joke,” she said quickly, panic in her voice. “It’s just a joke, Justice, _Maker_.” 

He stared at her, and she still refused to meet his gaze. “I do not understand,” he said finally.

“Good, that’s good, because it’s not like I understand myself either, so that makes two of us.”

Her hands were not entirely clean of the blood as she pulled on a linen shirt; he had no idea who had provided it for her, but it hung off her fragile frame, billowing around her like a tent. Her hands were shaking, and he thought about offering to help her, but something in him held his tongue. 

The noise in the hall dimmed for a moment when she reappeared, heads craning to see the Hero, the saviour, all seeking the legend without seeing the woman underneath. She pretended not to notice, and she certainly did not acknowledge it- no friendly wave, no charming smile to inspire and delight. If anything, she seemed more distressed than anything by the attention, her jaw tightening noticeably and the muscles in her neck standing out in stark relief. She limped along the edge of the wall to where a small nook sat unclaimed, and slumped down onto the floor, sliding against the bricks until her head rested almost on her upraised knees. 

Justice followed faithfully, with no other pressing need for his services, and he stood awkwardly beside her and waited for her to speak.

He did not have to wait long. “Sit down, you great lummox,” she said wearily, raising her head slowly to rest it against the stone at her back. Her eyes were closed. 

With some difficulty, he maneuvered himself to sit beside her; the woman on the other side of him rather pointedly get up to her feet and moved away, and the woman on the other side of her also shifted uncomfortably, casting uneasy glances sideways at him. 

The noise in the hall slowly returned to the previous levels, full of pain and anguish and anger; it buffeted at him relentlessly, and he felt he understood a little of why Elissa kept her eyes closed. 

If he closed his eyes too, would the scene before them vanish? Did closing one’s eyes provide some measure of distance from the pain, a bubble around one’s senses?

“I can almost hear you thinking,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Something has your attention.”

“It is nothing important,” he said after a moment, very aware of her presence at his side, very aware of the way his hip pressed against hers and her hand rested on her own knee, perilously close to touching him. They had sat like this dozens of times, but he had never before been struck by how very precious such a moment was, how the lure of death hounded her and threatened to snatch her away from him at any moment. 

“Do you ever get cold?” she murmured, her head resting on his shoulder.

“My body lacks a functional circulatory system, I have no means of heating-”

“I mean do you ever _feel_ it,” she corrected, shifting so that he was forced to lift his arm to accommodate her need to sit closer to him. “Can you feel temperature at all?”

He paused, considering his answer. “I am... aware of it, I suppose,” he said slowly, letting her settle against him and draping his arm across her shoulders. “Certainly if I stand closer to a source of heat, I am inclined to notice it.”

“And cold?”

“I am inclined to notice heat more than cold,” he said. “I am usually unaware of the cold until my body becomes less responsive, and my range of movement decreases.”

“I feel like these are things I should have asked you months ago. Basic courtesies, you know?”

“I would not have had sufficient experience to give an honest answer, had you asked months ago.”

He felt her shift against him, her head against his chest and her hand lying flat against the place where his ribs dipped down to his withered stomach. “Do you have sufficient experience in the world now?” she asked softly, and he was quite certain she was no longer talking about his tolerance for varying temperatures. 

Her arm was bare, and his dead, borrowed fingers could feel the warmth of her living flesh beneath them. “I do not know,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a time, the hall never quite settling as the night crept onwards; there was too much pain, too much fear thick in the air, sour and hot. The evening winds had swept a lot of the smoke away and over the sea, but it was still unpleasant enough that some of the mortals had wrapped scarves over their faces- he was grateful again that breathing was not something his body required as a necessity. Anders was still working, very clearly near to collapse, but the injured still wept and wailed for succor. Sigrun was fast asleep, the book still propped open on her lap and a child slumped against her shoulder, drool dribbling from the girl’s mouth and onto the page. Elissa was unmoving by his side, barely stirring with each breath she took, and he wondered whether she was asleep in his arms, or whether her exhaustion and her pain kept her from rest. 

From across the room, he made eye contact with Aura again, who was still yet to find a place of her own to catch her breath, and he felt the flutter of old longings push against his chest before she turned away.

“Elissa,” he said quietly, waiting to see if she answered, or if she truly was asleep. After a long moment, she stirred and made a sound of acknowledgement, and he took that as invitation to continue. “How does one know what love feels like, precisely?”

She went rigid instantly, and she unwound herself from his grasp, sitting up straight against the wall so that they were no longer touching. “I’m afraid I’m quite the wrong person to ask that,” she said, something immensely fragile in her tone. “I can’t honestly say that I’m capable of love.”

He turned his head to look down at her, to where she sat staring straight ahead. “Why would you say a thing such as that?” he asked curiously. “Are mortals not creatures capable of an array of vibrant emotions?”

Elissa let out a strangled noise that could have passed as laughter, but there was no humour on her face. “Well, yes,” she said hesitantly, “and no, not really. No two mortals are alike, and no two of us ever have the same experience.”

“And you have never experienced love?”

She breathed out slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “I can’t say for sure,” she said quietly, almost too soft for him to hear her. “It’s never been... I’ve never sought it out. A lot of... there’s a lot about it that makes me uncomfortable.”

“Like what?”

This time she did laugh, the sound unpleasant and almost shrill. “Uh, I’ve never tried to explain this before,” she said, her voice slightly rasped as she ran her hands up into her hair; they were still shaking. “It’s, um... there were always a lot of... _expectations_ on me, growing up. And it- it frustrated me and frightened me in equal measure.”

He frowned. “I do not understand.” 

“Well, good, we’re back to that again, that makes two of us,” she said. She sighed, the sound weary and bitter. “I don’t _want_ to fall in love, like the stories make it out to be. I find it tedious most days, and terrifying on others; it sounds cumbersome and complicated and I can barely understand _myself_ most days- I don’t have the energy to understand someone else as well.”

Justice stared down at her, something disquieting moving within him. “Am _I_ too complicated to understand?” he asked after a long, heavy moment.

Elissa was silent, almost horrifyingly so, and when she did not answer him he began to wonder if she had fallen asleep while he pondered his question. But finally her eyes opened, and she did not look at him as she climbed to her feet. 

“I should get some rest,” she said hollowly, her voice hoarse. “I might see if the Revered Mother will let me use her bed after all.”

She hobbled away from him, weaving in between the bodies that crowded the hall, and she did not look back. 

It _hurt_ ; he’d placed more weight on her words than he’d realised, more than he’d known to be possible, and her quiet dismissal _hurt_. Why could he just not say what was in her heart and in her mind, as she always did? She was always honest with him, almost brutally so, and she never shied away from him.

What had he become?

He sat quietly by the wall, trying to process the chaotic events of the day. The Vigil seemed so far away now, as if it had been weeks ago that the arguments of the morning had taken place, not hours. It was well after midnight now, and the Sisters had dimmed a great number of the candles, to try and encourage sleep for those who could find it; he did not need to sleep, even if the body he inhabited required rest. His mind did not settle, seething over every unpleasant and unhappy revelation of the day, because he did not want Elissa to die, he was not ready to let go of her, not when he still had so many questions and so much need for her companionship. 

What had she said about love? That it was frightening and frustrating, cumbersome and complicated- that seemed an adequate description for the maelstrom within him now. 

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced up to see Aura kneeling beside Anders, who was collapsed almost spread-eagled in a nearby pew. She had a water skin with her, and was speaking to him quietly as she helped him to wipe the blood and the gore from his trembling hands. After a moment, she seemed to sense Justice’s gaze on her, and her eyes flicked towards him briefly before turning away again. 

He sat up straighter. Aura was being remarkably brave and selfless, when so many others had thought only for their own safety. He ought to commend her for that, for her exemplary service in the aid of the people of Amaranthine. 

Yes; he would tell her as such.

She was clearly still watching him out of the corner of her eye, because the moment he climbed stiffly to his feet her expression dropped, and she fumbled quickly to straighten and move away from him. Anders, blessedly, had his eyes closed- either he had fallen asleep at last, or was tired enough to feign unconsciousness and not interrupt. 

“Aura,” he called softly, stepping over Anders’ long legs as they sprawled across the aisle.

“I do not wish to speak to you,” she said quickly, backing away hastily. She averted her gaze quite pointedly. “Forgive me, but I... I cannot.”

He felt a surge of disappointment. “I do not want to cause you distress, Aura,” he said quietly. 

“You can’t _not_ cause me distress, spirit,” she said. She twisted her fingers together anxiously, and he saw the way she spun the plain gold ring around on her finger. Her wedding ring, borrowed memories informed him. “I see you looking at her and I- all I can see is my husband’s face, watching another woman with the adoration I once thought mine alone.” 

That, more than anything, was the most stunning thing she could have said to him; for a few long moments he stared at her, gaping foolishly, as he tried to summon the words to refute her. 

She took a shuddering breath, as if to hold back tears. “Please do not think me ungrateful,” she whispered, eyes fixed on the floor. “You have saved so many of us, but I...”

He could not find the words he needed, and she did not seem to be charitable enough to help him work towards them; after a moment, she nodded her head briskly and spun on her heel, picking her way through the crowded hall to the far end, never once looking back towards him. Justice stared after her as she left, the echoes of longing and grief whispering through him, a yearning to go after her and comfort her.

He was beyond wearied of the wild flux of emotions within him, no longer fascinated by them or entranced by the new experience. He was tired, battered and under siege, and he wanted respite.

But there was none to be found in a besieged Chantry, so he found himself a quiet part of the hall and settled in, waiting for the sun to rise anew so that they could take to the field once more. 

Battle, he understood. The slaughter of darkspawn, he could revel in. 

The rest of this? This riotous, stressful surge of emotions and feelings and experiences that he should have no name for, and should certainly not desire with any part of him? He would do his best to put them to rest, to leave them no power over him.

He was Justice- and if he had strayed from that knowing, he would see that it did not happen again.


End file.
